


Baby you can drive my bus

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Every day Mr Fell takes the same bus to get to work, and every day he's greeted by the same driver, until one day there's a new driver, young and hot and flirting with Mr Fell...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 206
Kudos: 277





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sani86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sani86/gifts).



Every business day for the past ten years Mr Aziraphale Fell would exit his apartment building on Cockspur Street, Westminster, London, and get on the bus 91 that would take him to the British Library, where he had been serving as the director. The commute wasn't a long one, besides Mr Fell had no intention whatsoever to use the Tube - Mr Fell required daylight almost as much as Mr Turner, despite the fact that Mr Fell had never painted any pictures. Mr Fell was far better suited to admiring things. 

On the bus Mr Fell would listen to music or to the frantic ramblings of his secretary Newt, a nervous young man who considered every problem as another omen of the end of the world. 

Mr Fell was a man of several things - he was most definitely a man of honour and vast knowledge; he was a man of custom and suffered no changes to his routine unless he had made a courageous decision to apply said change to said routine, therefore the changes in his life had always been reasonable, even those that included rather risky escapades he had got himself into in his younger days (war correspondent, editor, editor in chief, the head of the news department in BBC, until he retired to become the head of the archive content); he was a man of fifty two years; he was a man of a few words but those words had to be exquisite and old-fashioned; he was a man of equally old-fashioned tastes and considered walking out of his flat without a waistcoat or a bowtie as an act of public indecency; he was a man of soft manners, beautiful blue eyes and pale white curls; he was a man who loved his dessert to follow a well-made dinner and be accompanied by a bottle of fine red. Mr Fell was practically perfect in every imaginable way, and unfortunately he was rather unaware of it. 

That fateful morning Mr Fell got on the bus and quite automatically greeted the driver (Tracy, around sixty, red hair, feisty manners, lively eyes) only to discover someone entirely new. Red hair was still in place, but it belonged to a skinny young man with sunglasses (in London, in autumn) and uniform that was a bit too tight and made the driver even more handsome (oh, he was astonishingly handsome, what with those sharp cheekbones and delicate features and blinding smile). 

Mr Fell considered pinching himself to make sure he had indeed woken up and had his shower, tea, full English breakfast, another cup of tea and a guilty cigarette. Unfortunately Mr Fell seemed to have forgotten how his body worked so he just stared at the driver, until someone pushed him from behind. 

"Oi!" The driver said. "No rudeness on my bus. We're right on schedule, no need to be an arsehole. The weather is being one just fine." 

The driver had such a lovely voice, and the expression of being utterly, royally pissed suited his face just as well as the friendly demeanour Mr Fell had been greeted with. Mr Fell glanced at the badge on the driver's thin - oh he was so thin! - lean chest. It said _Crowley_. 

Rolling the name on his tongue and discovering that it tasted of apples and young wine, Mr Fell found a seat for himself and forgot to turn the music on. 

Mr Fell knew how important colour was, but he was used to finding important colours on Mr Turner's pictures, for example, and yet now he was lost to the rust red of _Crowley's_ hair, and either Desert Sand or Misty Rose (#F4C4B2 and #FFE0DA respectively) of his skin, and the indescribable but gentle and soothing and so kissable colour of Crowley's freckles… Mr Fell ordered himself to calm down and consider how miserable he was, if a young bus driver had him all flustered and suddenly lonely. Would Crowley like Mr Turner? Would Crowley like Mr Fell's lovely mansard flat? (4.5 million pounds being its current price, but Mr Fell had always lived alone, and although he hardly denied himself any pleasures, he learned that debauchery could only be pleasant when it was planned and happened only once a month or two, so in short he could afford the burden of such mortgage just fine.) Would Crowley like oysters? Oh bugger all, Mr Fell wasn't himself currently. He got off the bus and behaved a bit nastily to Newt and a few of his employers, especially one Mr Gabriel Arch, an utter arsehole of a librarian, who had no idea whatsoever about books but was arrogant and snobbish. Mr Arch possessed that certain quality all bullies have - he made Mr Fell consider himself unworthy of affection. Luckily for Mr Fell, he had always had a good reason to lower Mr Arch's salary. Perhaps it was mean, but no one doubted it was just.

Mr Fell loved his job, his days were full and intense, therefore it was entirely forgivable that he had forgotten all about the new driver and his dreamy freckles (freckles themselves weren't dreamy, and neither was the driver, but Mr Fell per usual ascribed his own feelings to something else), and when he got on the bus he would board every evening for the past ten years, he absent-mindedly greeted Tracy only to see the same blinding smile and sunglasses. Mr Fell realised he was worried about Tracy. What could have possibly happened? Tracy loved her job, at least Mr Fell believed so. Tracy was like… like a friend! After all they had met twice every business day for ten years and Mr Fell would always inquire after her health, and Tracy would never voice any concerns. Mr Fell knew she was a single woman who loved a good romance novel, dabbled in Tarot reading and enjoyed baking. Tracy would always ask how Mr Fell was doing. Tracy would chat with Mr Fell sometimes in the evenings, when the bus was mostly empty, save for a few lost tourists and workaholics like Mr Fell himself. Tracy would chat with many a passenger, people tended to trust her with their troubles, but with Mr Fell she seemed more involved, more genuine. Maybe she pitied him - a fine gentleman from a fancy place and a fancy job, always alone, no mention of anyone close to him during those evening chats. Maybe she liked him in earnest. Mr Fell was universally liked, apart from some arrogant Gabriels, but thanks to those Gabriels, Mr Fell thought himself unlovable.

The most reasonable course of action would of course be to come ask Crowley about Tracy, but seeing as Mr Fell lost the track of his heartbeat at the sight of the young driver twice already, Mr Fell didn't dare ask anything.

***

Every business day for the past ten business days Mr Fell would get on the bus 91 and choke on his breath. Crowley would smile at him. Mr Fell would forget about his music, or age, or position, or decency, and watch every interaction Crowley had with everyone fiercely. 

Crowley didn't coo at babies, but calmed them down with a face and a laugh. He calmed the nervous parents. He helped the disabled passengers to get on the bus and shooed away anyone occupying the place meant to be saved for people with disabilities. His bus was clean - much cleaner than Tracy's, although it was the same vehicle. He made the whole bus listen to the best of Queen or the latest Doctor Who audio drama. He would sometimes follow some loud passenger's descent onto the pavement with a wicked _Another one bites the dust_. He was delectable, some twenty years younger than Mr Fell, and Mr Fell felt like a pervert.

There was a fine notebook on the dashboard in front of Crowley. Some very expensive and reliable stationery indeed… Mr Fell recognised it because he got his own fine stationery from the same place. 

Mr Fell couldn't fathom what a bus driver might have needed such a lovely notebook for.

Mr Fell didn't like being unable to fathom things, so he became quite frankly obsessed with a piece of fine stationery. He spent entire evenings thinking what Crowley might have needed it for. He had more than one feverish dream about Crowley all the same - a mere symptom of Mr Fell's loneliness and active libido, nothing else - but he was having feverish dreams about some notebook now. In his dreams it was full of very naughty drawings. 

Curiosity killed the cat, and although Mr Fell wasn't a cat, he felt as if his curiosity might kill him all the same - it was the curiosity of Eve in Eden, and Crowley the bus driver appeared to be the serpent of Eden. Out of curiosity Mr Fell allowed himself to answer Crowley's _Hello, angel_ with _Good morning, my dear._ Mr Fell allowed himself to sit close to the driver, which resulted in dialogues such as the following:

"So, how was your evening, angel?"

"It was just fine, my dear. Yours?"

"Quite alright, if I say so myself. Looking forward to your day?"

"I am, in fact."

"Great! Loving one's job is awesome. I'm ever so lucky. What do you do, angel?"

(It was out of curiosity alone that Mr Fell allowed Crowley to call him _angel_ , besides it sounded so sweet coming from Crowley's thin lips.)

"I'm a librarian, dear boy."

"Never knew librarians could be so… you know. Wickedly sexy."

Crowley must have been driving drunk, decided Mr Fell.

"Are you drunk, my dear?"

"Oh, I am, but only because you're sitting so close to me." Crowley would smirk.

***

Every business day for the past twenty business days, Mr Fell would board the 91 bus and take a seat close to Crowley.

"So, any plans for the weekend, angel?"

"Oh, nothing special, dear boy. Just cozying up with a book."

"Sounds really special to me, angel."

"What about you, dear boy?"

"The same, really. Or, probably, depending on the company, I'd spend my weekend in a museum." Crowley looked positively dreamy, which seemed rather dangerous considering the traffic. Mr Fell failed to swallow the biggest bait Crowley, a bus driver, a proletarian with the taste Oscar Wilde would admire, could have ever offered. Oh dear.

***

A month after Mr Fell discovered the amazing attractiveness of a certain bus driver, Mr Fell just happened to sort of sway with the movement of the bus making his hip rather inadvertently hit the dashboard and let the _notebook_ fall. 

Now, Mr Fell was a man of honour. He took his current position despite a considerable difference in the salary just to spend more time with rare books. So no one could blame Mr Fell for some awkwardness, really. 

The notebook fell and opened to reveal the most wonderful sketches of flowers Mr Fell could have ever thought of. Mr Fell wasn't an admirer of nature, but he _loved_ a great artist, so Mr Fell carefully lifted the notebook and apologised most profusely. Taking his seat behind Crowley, he could hear the young driver hiss and curse and swear but he had to have a closer look… 

He deposited the notebook back on the dashboard as he got off the bus and he sat far from Crowley in the evening. 

Mr Fell spent his evening watching _Titanic_ and dreaming of mustering enough courage to ask Crowley to draw him, Mr Fell, like one of his, Crowley's flowers.

***

Every business day for three months Mr Fell would get on the bus driven by one Mr Crowley, red-haired, freckled and deviously handsome. Mr Fell wouldn't allow any flirting, because Mr Fell's colleagues, especially Mr Gabriel Arch, had noticed that something was going on with their director. 

And so Mr Fell sat far from Crowley and daydreamed about flowers and long fingers, when an old man, whom Mr Fell had known for quite more time than he'd love to, told Mr Fell to move and called him a pansy. 

Now, Mr Fell didn't think much of it, but suddenly the bus stopped, and Crowley sauntered down the isle to tower over Mr Shadwell, a miserable old bigot. 

"Dear sir, as far as I've heard you used a slur," Crowley said, frowning. "Your hate speech endangers the safety of the route, since I am gay and you're making me feel unsafe. Please get off the bus."

The passengers remained silent. Their driver was handsome and wore sunglasses during rain. He let homeless people have a ride for as long as they wanted and he calmed babies with a face. He was also charming, had a bright smile and made everyone thirst for him regardless of their sexual orientation.

Mr Shadwell had to get off the bus. Mr Fell called for a cab in the evening and spent the night reading Jane Austen.

Mr Fell had the presence of mind to realise how silly he was, but he couldn't find a way to talk to the handsome bus driver.

***

Every day for four months Mr Fell would get on the 91 bus and avoid looking at the driver. 

One evening a brilliant idea struck him - he had to know what happened to Tracy!

"Dear boy, would you mind telling me what happened to Tracy?"

"Oh, she retired, angel."

Queen kept promising that _baby, you don't fool me_ , but as Mr Fell was getting off the bus, Crowley asked out of the blue:

"Hey angel, want to get dinner sometime?"

So Mr Fell indeed fell off the bus and scurried away.

The invitation was reiterated the next evening and resulted in another fall off the bus.

Crowley asked Mr Fell out three more times and Mr Fell fell off the bus three more times. 

Crowley got the hint and refused to open the doors for Mr Fell the fourth time.

"Hey angel, want to grab dinner sometime?"

There was nowhere to fall, and Mr Fell _was being captured by a demon_ , so who could blame him for agreeing and giving his number to Crowley, _of course just to get off the bus_!

Crowley texted the next morning, at around six. He sent the address and the hour. Mr Fell replied he'd love to join Crowley for dinner. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a date and a bit of dirty talk

As the sun, mischievous and gorgeous, peeked through the semicircular windows of Mr Fell's flat, Mr Fell smiled through his slumber. On days like that Mr Fell felt he was a delicate flower, and usually the sheer ridiculousness of such a notion would have woken him (he was the only one who considered the thought ridiculous, but then again, he imagined the whole world think so and didn't want to argue) but these days most of his thoughts concentrated on Crowley the bus driver, so  _ flowers  _ led him to  _ the notebook,  _ and  _ the notebook  _ led him to Crowley.

Mr Fell became quite used to the fact of seeing Crowley in his dreams, so he allowed himself to bask in the sun and watch that lovely, flower-thoughts induced dream, in which Crowley asked Mr Fell out for dinner again, but didn't open the doors, and Mr Fell could feel the naughty thrill of being  _ captured by the demon of the public transport _ , if only he had allowed himself to even acknowledge that he experienced said thrill… Oh no, the dream was turning into something more complicated, so Mr Fell sighed in his sleep and heard Crowley ask him out for dinner. Dinner was such a lovely meal, Mr Fell's favourite, actually; it had to feature at least three courses and be considered a veritable feast by anyone who had less passion for food than Mr Fell, but oh boy, the dream was becoming too complicated again. 

The dream Crowley who bore a striking resemblance to the real Crowley - almost to the point of being identical to him - smirked and said  _ Not letting you fall again, angel. Well, will definitely let you fall in love.  _ Crowley winked. Mr Fell found him incredibly beautiful, pardon, wicked and blasphemous and every bad thing. Crowley had no right to be so beautiful and young and ask Mr Fell out for blessed, pardon, damned dinner.

In his sleep Mr Fell thought he'd say something witty and flirty, but alas, Mr Fell only blushed and said something under his breath.  _ So… I take it as a… no?  _ The wicked dream Crowley, identical, by accident of course, to the wicked real Crowley looked disappointed and crestfallen. He moved his hand to push the door-opening button on the dashboard, but the dream Mr Fell finally got his sea-legs back and caught Crowley's wrist… Ah, such an unrealistic, badly researched dream! Crowley looked at Mr Fell's hand and then at Mr Fell's face and took his sunglasses off to reveal the pale gold of his eyes. They were incredible, and the dream Mr Fell was gone, lost, absolutely spoken for till the end of anything that had no end, like for example, prime numbers or infinity. 

_ Write down my number, dear boy, _ the dream Mr Fell said smoothly. Oh, he was a bit of a bastard and he wasn't going to hide it when he was dreaming.

_ Dear boy  _ blushed so…  _ dearboyishly,  _ properly diabolically, so fetchingly, and such an exquisite shade of pink it was that Mr Fell couldn't even remember its code! Imagine that! Then  _ dear boy  _ wrote Mr Fell's number down across a sketch of a peony that Ernst Haeckel would have been envious of.  _ I'll text you, angel. See you.  _ The dream Crowley winked and Mr Fell had a very rude awakening.

Oh dear Lord, it did happen! It wasn't a dream! Mr Fell agreed to have dinner with Crowley! I can hear you, gentle readers, cheer this decision, but Mr Fell couldn't breathe properly. But of course Crowley wouldn't text, it was all just… just a joke. A very bad one, the kind one would have expected of a bus driver or a demon, or both. After all Mr Fell was an aging librarian, lover of books, protector of the written word and the king of silly doubts. 

Mr Fell's phone buzzed. Newt must have been freaking out over an email or some scheduled meeting Mr Fell had to have attended the day before. Nothing new or special.

On the other hand, it could have been Crowley. On the third hand, Mr Fell had read so much of  _ Wuthering Heights  _ and drank so much good wine the previous night that even Mr Fell himself couldn't blame his clouded judgment for being so cloudy on such a sunny day. 

Alright, he gave in and grabbed his phone to see a message from an unknown number.

_ Morning, angel. As it happens I still don't know your name, but it can be sorted out easily, can't it? How about we have that dinner at a nice little pub I frequent? And how about we do it today? I have an early shift, just for your sake, so I still get to walk you home, if everything goes smoothly, which it has to, because I rubbed so much oil on this day it has to slip and fall. I'm sending you the address. Can I tempt you to meet me there at six tonight? I'll be Crowley, and you'll be angel, so we'll recognise each other right away.  _

Mr Fell sat up, pinched himself, rubbed his eyes, touched his nose, shook his head and experienced a lovely urge to hop around the flat in his underwear. He couldn't let himself behave so recklessly in front of his books, toaster, oven, stove, kettle and bath, not to mention his razor, lavender soap and - oh the horror - the mirror. He couldn't even imagine what his breakfast would think of him. 

Mr Fell put his body into the bath and let his spirit fly above the clouds. The spirit of Oscar Wilde who was having a lovely morning walk there chided Mr Fell for separating body and soul, but soon discovered that Mr Fell was rather deaf to the voice of gay reason at the moment, and the spirit of Oscar Wilde could relate.

_ Sounds lovely, dear boy. I'll meet you there. My name is Aziraphale, I'm afraid. _

Mr Fell closed his eyes and just tried to focus on the warm water. Another buzzing drove him over like a bus, speaking of which…

_ Aziraphale… I should have known. You're a proper angel, aren't you? Can't wait to see you, both on the bus and in the pub. Take care. Wahoo! _

Mr Fell couldn't stand it, he couldn't, so he stood up, looked in the mirror, saw how soft around the edges he was, and how… how his pale white hair was turning grey. 

He barely touched his breakfast and drank too much tea, and Crowley just had to greet him with  _ Angel, are you alright? Have you eaten?  _ spoken with such gentle concern, such genuine interest in the matters of Mr Fell's stomach, that Mr Fell's heart became a dancer.

"I'm just fine, my dear. Thank you."

"Hey, and where is that fancy card you used to have?" Crowley looked at Mr Fell's Travelcard that wasn't half as fancy as what he usually used. 

"Oh… see, someone needed it more than I do, so I gave it away."

"You what?.. Hey, you, either fuck off or don't push anyone, you silly whatever!.. Angel? Do you understand that your card had your name and photo on it? I mean, I could never catch the name, and believe me, I tried… Yes, I  _ am  _ in fact flirting with a passenger, and if you're jealous there's the upper deck suited just fine for your heartbreak…"

"Oh my… So… I just caused more trouble. Oh dear…" Mr Fell forgot everything and just walked down the isle to take a seat somewhere far from Crowley. He looked at the place where he was supposed to have dinner tonight. It was indeed a very small pub with raving reviews and a very apt name -  _ The End of the World _ . Mr Fell was fucked. 

***

At six o'clock sharp Mr Fell entered The End of the World. Mr Arch had mocked him during a staff meeting, and Mr Fell easily found another reason to lower Mr Arch's salary, but hadn't summoned up enough courage to fire the toxic masculinity from the British Library, so he was feeling understandably low and expected Crowley to have stood him up.

Crowley did stand up, once he saw Mr Fell. Crowley was wearing tight black jeans, tight black shirt and had very nice arms, pardon, absolutely wonderful arms, that were made for hugging and holding onto Mr Fell as the owner of said arms fucked Mr Fell silly into his fancy bed. Or as the owner of said arms was being fucked into Mr Fell's fancy bed. You see, Mr Fell was flexible and open to suggestions.

"Hey, angel. I'm so happy you're here." Crowley smiled, and the sun shone over the land of Mordor, and the polar night was cancelled, and black holes turned into albino bunnies. 

"So am I, my dear, so am I." Mr Fell took a seat across Crowley. 

The place was cozy, the menu was right in front of him and promised a lot of delicious unhealthy food. Mr Fell wanted his guilty cigarette and was afraid to admit it, yet Crowley began rolling his own cigarette, or so Mr Fell thought, but then Crowley handed it to Mr Fell.

"Care for a smoke, angel? You smell of tobacco sometimes, so I thought…"

"I smell of tobacco? Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry."

"For what? Ruining your health?" Crowley chuckled and rolled a cigarette for himself. "Did you find anything you like?"

"Yes… yes… cold roast beef sounds rather good."

"It is! I'll order it for us, you make yourself at home outside. There's a bench." Crowley passed Mr Fell a lighter and walked, nay, sauntered like… like a demon or someone with exactly zero knowledge of how one's pelvis had to work, over to a waiter, who nodded and smiled with too much understanding for Mr Fell's taste. 

"Angel? Shall we? Does it bother you I'm calling you  _ angel _ ? You look like one, so…"

Mr Fell looked at Crowley dizzily. The poor darling was just as flustered and scared as Mr Fell, and Mr Fell felt he needed to reassure the younger man and make him feel special, because as it happened he  _ was  _ feeling very special with such a handsome dinner companion, with such a… a… such a delicate darling next to him. Mr Fell was only human, after all, however much he tended to forget about it.

"My dear, everything is lovely. You are lovely. Let's have our guilty pleasure and get back for some delectable food, hm?"

Crowley grinned and took Mr Fell's hand. 

"Thank you, angel… Oh, is it too forward of me?" Crowley asked noticing Mr Fell's dazed expression, but he didn't let Crowley let his hand go, so they exited the pub and had a cigarette on the bench.

"So… you told me you're a librarian, and judging by your stop, I'd say you work at the British Library…" Crowley began after a few long drags.

"Oh yes. I'm the director of the British Library, dear boy."

"Ngk. You are? How come I'm so lucky to have both the handsomest man on Earth for a date  _ and _ the librarian of the best library on Earth for a date? Wow. Tracy wasn't lying!"

"You… you know her?"

"Of course I do! She's a legend, but I never trusted her Tarot readings! I'll be more attentive in the future. Maybe she could tell me what you'd like to do on Saturday, if the dinner goes well."

"I could tell you just as well, my dear. I'm going to read."

"Oh… And would you be willing to… let me, I don't know, rub your feet as you're reading? Maybe I could bring you some pastries? I mean, if the dinner goes well, of course."

"You… you'd want to see me again?"

"Angel, I see you twice every day, and I've never hated my days off so much since I've seen you. You don't work on Sundays, and let me tell you, I've come to hate my Sundays just as well."

It couldn't have been true, no, it couldn't have. Crowley couldn't have liked him so much, absolutely not. Mr Fell of course liked Crowley a lot, liked him a perfectly reasonable amount, that is for someone with no reason at all.

"That's… that's very impressive." Mr Fell blushed and smoked to cover up for it.

"No, angel, you're impressive… Sorry. I'm making it worse. Just… oh, whatever. Let's get in and eat our dinner."

As soon as they returned, their food was served. Mr Fell took a bite of his roast beef and moaned. Crowley was just about to shove a forkful of food into his mouth, but the food fell back on the plate and Crowley stared at Mr Fell from behind his sunglasses. Mr Fell chewed with his eyes closed. Crowley rubbed his chin and leaned on his elbow on the table to take a closer look on what was happening.

"My dear, this is scrumptious… Oh… Why aren't you eating?"

"Angel, you're so sexy I'm going to die," Crowley confessed and managed to push some roast beef into his mouth.

"My dear, you shouldn't exaggerate," Mr Fell reproached and moaned again. "Tell me about yourself."

Crowley would do anything for that beautiful, lovely, soft, bright man, so he obliged immediately.

"Well, I had a very poor and traditional family. Being gay and a bookworm didn't help, of course, so I joined the army. Was a combat medic, both Afghanistan and Iraq. Retired in the end. Luck of the devil, never got injured. Wanted a job that would let me daydream and draw and read and suchlike, so… bus driver it is." Crowley shrugged. "Hey, angel, we still haven't ordered our drinks. I say you're a wine person, but their ale is to die for. Falstaff would approve."

Mr Fell wouldn't argue with Falstaff, so they ordered ale and had a lot of it. They talked easily about nothing and argued over what the best thing Oscar Wilde had written was ( _ Ideal Husband _ for Crowley and  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray  _ for Mr Fell), they finished their dinner, or rather Mr Fell finished his and the leftovers of Crowley's.

"Should I call for a cab or would you like to walk to your place? I'll walk with you, if I may…" Crowley blushed. 

"Oh, I'd love it if you walked me home, my dear," Mr Fell replied, tipsy and giddy and so mindlessly happy he could allow himself to have no second thoughts. 

"You would? Wahoo! Thanks, angel." 

Crowley paid the bill before Mr Fell could insist on doing it himself. 

They walked to Mr Fell's building, if that gait of Crowley's could be called walking. He apparently was propelled forward by the swaying motion of his hips. 

"So… that's me," Mr Fell said once they reached their destination. Crowley looked up and whistled. 

"Fancy. Posh." Crowley shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Didn't know you were that much out of my league."

"Me, out of your league? Have you seen yourself?" Mr Fell giggled. 

"I have. You don't seem to have seen yourself, though, angel…" Crowley was decidedly looking at his snakeskin boots. 

"My dear, would you like to… I really had such a lovely time, and you look so delectable tonight, even better than your usual self and I thought… I meant…" The alcohol was leaving Mr Fell's blood system far too quickly.

"You mean I can kiss you?" Crowley asked hopefully.

"Oh fuck, please do," Mr Fell sighed with relief, and it turned out to be the last proper breath of the evening for Mr Fell - Crowley was kissing him, his soft, thin, warm lips against Mr Fell's. It was so good, so right, so tender that Mr Fell moaned even louder than when he was chewing on his dinner. Crowley kissed him and was careful and caring, let his endless arms fly around without ever landing on Mr Fell's shoulders or waist or, heaven help them, arse. 

"Darling, grab my arse, now," Mr Fell demanded, although he would deny it the next day.

"Of course, angel. That arse has to be grabbed." Crowley moaned again, grabbed Mr Fell's arse and pressed them together. 

"I… I can't invite you in, darling, I…"

"Oh angel, it's alright. Would you… would you like to go to a museum on Saturday? I have tickets for Monteverdi's Vespers in Oxford in two weeks, do you think you could join me? Or is it too boring? I never asked what music you liked…"

Mr Fell found himself obliged to snog the life out of Crowley at this.

"Darling, I'd love to go to a museum with you and I love Monteverdi!" Mr Fell snogged Crowley again. He couldn't be blamed for it, really, he was suffering from some ale and oxygen deprivation. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley whispered, touching Mr Fell's face reverently.

"Oh my dear, you can't say my name like that and remain so far from me," Mr Fell replied and pulled Crowley into another kiss.

"Come to the National Gallery with me on Saturday," Crowley asked as if he had been begging Mr Fell to elope with him. Mr Fell as he was at the moment, still relatively tipsy and far too hopeful, would have eloped with Crowley, so he agreed and sealed the deal with a searing kiss, ehm, sorry, sealing kiss.

"I'll see you tomorrow, angel. Please, don't be late. I'll hold the traffic for you." Crowley kissed Mr Fell's cheek and sauntered away. 

Mr Fell paused by the entrance to his buildings but pushed it all the same. Yes, he wanted Crowley to beg him for a night of passion and poor decisions. Yet, he also wanted Crowley to respect his boundaries.

Mr Fell was too dazed and confused to make a reasonable decision, so he stroked himself in the bath and came reciting Edwin Morgan's  _ One Cigarette _ . 

There was no harm in it, really, since Crowley would never want to see all the softness of Mr Fell's body, but one could dream, of course. 

Mr Fell dried himself with a fluffy towel and lay down on his bed. His phone buzzed and he had no strength to argue with that buzzing, so he looked at his phone.

_ Had such a great time, angel. You're so wonderful. You're so soft and warm. Tell me if you're ok with more… specific messages. _

Mr Fell giggled and replied he was more than ok, although he didn't know what he was asking for.

_ Angel, my soft, beautiful angel, I stroke myself thinking of your lips and your body. If you ever let me, I'll die sucking you off. I'll die seeing you naked. I can't think of anyone as beautiful as you. I love how you eat and drink and smile and smoke. I can't wait to get up and see you. I wish you could be the first thing for me to see in the morning. I wish you could be the last thing for me to see before I fall asleep. I love sleeping, but if it's without you and your warmth, I couldn't care less. Fuck your fancy building, angel, I'd like to take you to my place in Canada Water. It's small, but I have an enormous bed. I'm imagining you here, next to me. You're happy, you're blushing, I'm sucking you off and kissing you everywhere… You're so much more than I could have imagined and I've never been happier than when I'm with you. _

Mr Fell felt overwhelmed and… and… and… fucking relaxed. 

Who cared how history rated him when a young, hot, lean bus driver kissed him as if he had wanted it? Mr Fell was ready to go through any scandal, any Twitter storm (had he known what Twitter was) over Crowley. His name rolled on Mr Fell's tongue like any number of lovers drunk in love, bringing to his mind Bunin and his apples… Oh, the apples! Mr Fell went to his fridge and bit into a sour autumn fruit. He had never been so alive, so free, so unselfconscious. 

_ My darling boy, I wish every evening had been like the one I spent with you. _

Crowley replied immediately.

_ Oh, angel, if I have your permission, then every evening will be like that. What should I give you? What should I bring you? Would you like one of the moons of Jupiter or Saturn? _

Mr Fell giggled.

_ Just your delectable arse in those indecent trousers of yours. You walk like someone with a pack of condoms in your pocket. _

Mr Fell congratulated himself on being so bold and flirtatious, but Crowley ruined it all with his reply:

_ I'm an optimist, angel, I  _ **_am_ ** _ carrying condoms with me. I mean, I was carrying them. Now they look at me and reproach me. I'll wait until they expire, angel. Fuck, I'll wait untill all the condoms of the world expire. And even after that I'll wait. And if you're asexual, I won't wait, just your kisses will keep me alive for the foreseeable future. You're amazing, angel. Whatever you want is yours. _

Mr Fell considered being sober and logical and decided to screw it all.

_ My dear, I want your arse, open and welcoming. _

_ Are you trying to kill me, angel? Please, sleep well, while I wank myself into an early grave. _

Mr Fell complied and did just that, and in the morning he greeted Crowley, flustered and blushing, with the wickedest grin he could muster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Fell is sorry, but he's experiencing a lot of angst. Luckily for him, Crowley is there to be a sweet darling.

Fuck the ale, fuck Falstaff, fuck public transportation and fuck handsome bus drivers - oh Mr Fell could only wish for the last one. He sat rather far from Crowley and watched him being charming and lovely. Last night must have been some ale-infused madness. Yes, it was definitely the ale, and now it had left Mr Fell's body, despite Mr Fell being quite certain he could still taste the apples and sparkling wine of Crowley's mouth. No, they were just tipsy, and the kissing was alright of course…

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, the kissing was so brilliant and tender and Crowley said Mr Fell's name so sweetly…

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, they had some dirty talk. Some gentle, lovely dirty talk. Fuck Mr Fell's phone, fuck Mr Fell's judgement. What was he doing anyway?

Oh dear, he even grinned at Crowley when he got on the bus. Oh no, oh Lord, oh dear, oh exclamations. Rhododendron and azalea, fuck his life, cacti and tulips and peonies, he shouldn't have agreed to Crowley's invitation, and oh pine trees and old oaks, he shouldn't have kissed Crowley. This was silly, although the only silly thing about the whole situation was, to be frank, Mr Fell himself. 

Mr Fell had woken up happy and had been so glad to see sweet Crowley's smile and the pink of his cheeks and those freckles, oh no, no, no, Mr Fell wouldn't go there. Mr Fell would never ride this bus again, Mr Fell would delete his conversation with Crowley from his phone. How does one split internal monologue into paragraphs and could I please talk to Mr Joyce? Yes, I know he's dead, so what? Mr Fell couldn't do it and wouldn't do it. It was an easy mistake to make, after all. He was captured by a demon, he had no other option than to agree to said demon's terms and conditions. (Which are what, Mr Fell?  _ Let me buy you dinner and flirt with you and take you to a museum and smile at you and kiss you and send you sweet naughty messages and blush when you look at me, and in return I'll have your immortal soul?  _ Pretty shitty conditions for a demon, if you ask me.)

It had to stop, the foot was down, poor, sad Mr Fell ran off the bus long before his stop and had Newt get him a cab in the evening. And the following morning.

Crowley, foul fiend, texted of course.  _ Are you alright, angel? Saw you running in the morning and didn't see you in the evening.  _

Mr Fell chuckled bitterly. No, he was old and lonely, but not so desperate as to allow himself to continue this  _ fraternising  _ with a much younger bus driver. They had nothing whatsoever in common apart from Monteverdi and fine stationery, and Mr Fell didn't even like him, not at all, so he didn't reply. 

Crowley texted him the next day again.  _ Angel, did I do something wrong? Can I make it up to you? Are you alright? _

Mr Fell considered throwing his phone out of the cab window, but that would mean getting used to a new phone, inevitably and frustratingly, therefore he didn't. He resigned to a change in his routine, no more buses, he hated buses, hated bus drivers, hated changes, hated kissing handsome young men, hated texting handsome young men, hated flowers and long fingers like lillies, cheeks like roses, voice as soft as a petal, strong arms, lean bodies, sauntering gaits, swaying hips, tight jeans, tight shirts, short sleeves under a black jacket in the autumn chill, snakeskin boots, and above all ale. (Mr Fell, you are being ridiculous, oh bugger, alright, be ridiculous.)

Crowley got the hint and stopped texting, Mr Fell never showed up on the bus again, and Saturday was coming. 

Crowley didn't get the hint and texted Mr Fell on Friday.  _ Angel, I'm sorry to bother you, but could you give me one more chance? I realise I behaved too forward. I swear I'll never cross your boundaries again, we can take it as slow as you like. Could we please go to a museum tomorrow? _

Oh, the sweet darling didn't give up on Mr Fell. Perhaps Mr Fell should give him another chance? Perhaps Mr Fell could go to a museum with the handsome bus driver? No cozy pubs of course, and no ale.  _ Hello, my dear. Had a very intense week. Let's meet tomorrow at eleven? National Gallery? How about we grab breakfast first? My treat.  _

Somewhere in Canada Water Crowley danced around his small flat and saluted the skyscrapers outside his window with a cup of bitter coffee.

***

Saturday morning Mr Fell met Crowley who had been waiting for Mr Fell on the steps of the National Gallery and looked so worried, Mr Fell's heart misbehaved. Mr Fell had missed Crowley. Mr Fell had never seen the look of such tender concern on such a lovely face. 

"Hello, my dear."

"Hi, angel. So happy to see you."

Why wasn't Crowley kissing Mr Fell? Oh, right, Mr Fell had been ghosting Crowley for four days. 

"And I you, Crowley. How was your week?"

"It was good. Sort of."

"Oh?"

"You know I thought for a moment that you were married and… Sorry." Crowley pretended to laugh. Mr Fell cursed himself for never coming up with such an easy lie. He could have broken two hearts, alright, but he wouldn't have to  _ torture  _ himself with  _ very bad indeed  _ dates with  _ diabolical  _ bus drivers. "I assure you I'm not married."

"Ok. You promised me breakfast." Crowley shifted uncomfortably. See, Crowley was trying to be perfect and it didn't work, because he already was perfect. He wanted to ask Mr Fell,  _ Aziraphale _ , questions and to get to know him, but he had to be careful. So he was behaving a bit strangely which might have hurt his purpose, however he was too nervous to realise it.

"What would you say to some crepes?" Mr Fell asked and his eyes glowed maniacally. Crowley was smitten.

  
  


***

The food was delicious, Mr Fell's moans around mouthfuls of crepes with butter and strawberry sauce were indecent, and Crowley discovered that those moans were far more nutritious than any edible thing. 

"My dear, you're not eating."

Mr Fell's dear was leaning on the table and stroking his chin, deep in thought and gazing. "I'm not. Right. Food. Not hungry."

"You're not?" Mr Fell looked disappointed, so Crowley hastily shoved a few forkfuls into his mouth. 

"It's good, it is." Crowley swallowed without much chewing involved. He was an abomination and Mr Fell was in love. "Just… you… make those… noises when you eat, and they… hm… distract me. I begin to… have… I mean… you're so sweet and handsome when you enjoy your meal. There."

"Oh, darling… oh thank you! I've been told I eat too much and love my food more than anything, which isn't true of course, but that's what people say."

"This is silly, Aziraphale. One should spoil oneself when one is an angel." Crowley had taken his sunglasses off once they were seated, so he could wink mischievously at Mr Fell. Mr Fell wanted to run for the woods. He also wanted to run for the woods with Crowley and snog him against every tree available. It had to be a very big forest. Oh, maybe Mr Fell overreacted? (Understatement of the century, Mr Fell. See that man in front of you devouring you with his eyes? He fancies you a lot, Mr Fell. Run for the woods with him, you silly potato!) Maybe Mr Fell could allow himself to be a bit happy? Could he? Should he? 

"You told me your week was intense. Something happened?"

Something did happen. You need to understand, dear boy, that Mr Fell thinks both too much and too little of himself. 

"Your kiss was intense," Mr Fell blurted.

Crowley's jaw unhinged. 

"I… I thought you wanted me to kiss you. Your week wasn't that intense, was it?" 

That was that. Mr Fell realised that Crowley would get up and saunter away from Mr Fell's life forever, and in a moment of weakness Mr Fell grabbed Crowley's hand. 

Interestingly Crowley wasn't trying to leave. 

"Is it because I'm younger or because I'm so much… different from you both socially and aesthetically?" Crowley asked quietly. "I mean I use the British Library, but you're its rightful ruler and astonishingly handsome and fun and naughty..." Crowley trailed off.

Mr Fell couldn't bear it, so he grabbed Crowley's second hand. "Darling, you're everything I'm not, and while you say the sweetest things, I know far too well that I'm much older than you and not half as enchanting as you."

"I don't get it, but you don't have to explain. Can I ask you something?" Crowley covered Mr Fell's hands with his, such a cozy and sweet little protective gesture.

Slippery slope, though, with questions but alright, here we go.

"Sure."

"May I walk with you to the National Gallery and spend some time roaming it?"

Mr Fell considered proposing and getting married by the nearest sea captain. 

"You… you're not angry with me?"

"No. You needed your space and I have no right to invade it." 

"I'm sorry," Mr Fell whispered through the mist of tears. 

"Don't be sorry for being you, ok? I like you. I'm sorry for scaring you."

Crowley, darling, you need to stop being so sweet and understanding. Mr Fell is not a young man after all, he may have a heart attack.

"You… you go too fast for me, Crowley."

"It's Anthony, if you want."

"Anthony?"

"You don't like it?"

"Even your first name tastes of apples."

"Yours smells of some heavy perfume and book dust." Crowley laughed. He was alright, everything was alright, the most beautiful man to have walked the Earth didn't despise him and he was a very silly bus driver for being so… intense. Crowley, sweetling, I swear quantum mechanics was created to describe the uncertainty of Mr Fell's brilliant mind.

"It does? Is it a nice smell?"

"It's the best smell ever. You dodged my question."

"Oh, I did, didn't I?" Mr Fell smirked.

"You're a bit of a bastard, do you know that?" Crowley said it so tenderly Mr Fell swooned. 

"You're a demon, dear boy," Mr Fell reproached. "I'd love to roam the National Gallery with you. You could show me your favourites."

"I could. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

"What a wicked thing you are, darling."

"You want the rest of my crepes?"

"I do. But I'd love you to eat some more."

Oh shit, Mr Fell sneaked in the word  _ love _ . Now, how ridiculous was that. Best not to dwell on it or on the way Crowley froze upon hearing the accursed word.

"I will eat one more forkful." 

Had Mr Fell allowed himself to be as naughty as he wanted to be, he'd fork feed Crowley and then lick his lips clean, but maybe some other time. Crowley did promise him Monteverdi after all, which reminded Mr Fell…

"My dear, which Monteverdi are they playing in Oxford in two weeks? I guess it's just one week now."

"Vespers. You like them?"

"I do. Not my favourite, though."

"What is your favourite, then?" Crowley abandoned his food again. He couldn't sit properly, but that was probably because his arse was too skinny for sitting, and besides he had to sit at work, yet regardless, he didn't seem to be in any hurry, just enjoyed Mr Fell's company. Mr Fell decided that Crowley was sweeter than crepes or any other dessert.

" _ The Coronation of Poppea. _ "

"Oh, there's a premiere of it next month! I couldn't get tickets, but maybe  _ you  _ could pull some strings? I'm being obnoxious, right?"

"You are, my dear, most wonderfully." Mr Fell giggled. 

***

Crowley knew he couldn't just bombard Mr Fell with questions, however innocent, and he suspected that two questions in a row could freak the gentle librarian out, so he remarked on this and that, steered their conversation firmly towards art and silly jokes, while unbeknownst to Crowley, Mr Fell was thinking just the same. Mr Fell, I know it's impossible, but I'm begging you to stop thinking that everyone is feeling the same way… oh no, oh no, what have I done! Ok, Mr Fell, so that's how it goes. Both you  _ and  _ Crowley are arse over elbow in love, so  _ these  _ feelings are just the same, although even here we come upon a contradiction - Crowley, dear Mr Fell, wants to hold your hand and kiss you each time you two stop in front of another painting and despite the fact that his optimism lowered a bit and he isn't carrying condoms, he still dreams about unpacking your cloudy form one day and make tender love to you; Mr Fell, I'm not telling anyone what you want to do with Crowley, because you're so delightfully naughty and your thoughts make me feel like I did when I watched porn for the first time, that is  _ the mechanics  _ and  _ acrobatics  _ of the process. My, my, my, Mr Fell, all that reading paid off. Read, kids, and you'll know things that will make a skeleton blush. Where were we? Oh, right, on the bench in front of one of Mr Turner's finest works,  _ The Fighting Temeraire _ .

Crowley leaned back on his arms and stretched his lanky long legs. If Mr Fell could let himself sit like a man at ease, he would have been able to rest his head on Crowley's sharp shoulder, which sounded uncomfortable but was actually the stuff of Mr Fell's dreams.

"I just love the bugger!" Crowley sighed happily.

"You're quite an extraordinary artist yourself, my dear," Mr Fell replied.

"Oh shit, right, you saw it. Don't compare me to Turner, angel. Nowhere near. Never use colour, and the man was the deity of colour."

"Have you… ever considered doing it professionally? Drawing I mean."

"Nah, don't want to." Crowley shrugged.

"Certainly being an artist would have suited you better, what with your aesthetics of a rock star."

Crowley slowly turned to look at Mr Fell, and Mr Fell just knew that Crowley had read his thoughts, not the naughty playful ones, but those concerning ever telling anyone he was dating a bus driver.

"Angel, it would have suited  _ you  _ better. I love my job. It's not fancy, but it's honest and useful. I'm essential to the life of this city."

"I'm sorry, my dear. How do you know what I think?" Mr Fell looked aside. 

"It's only natural to think so. You're upper middle class, I'm working class. It might sound like a naughty fantasy straight out of  _ Maurice _ , but in the end Maurice didn't care."

"I assure you, I don't care either. I'm afraid I'm very preoccupied with what people think of me, and I've been mocked for one thing or another my entire life, so you see…" Mr Fell unexpectedly found himself wrapped in a careful embrace. Oh fuck, Crowley was deliciously sharp, his angles were so lovely against Mr Fell's plump body.

"Sorry if I overstepped, angel," Crowley whispered in Mr Fell's ear. "Sorry you have so many stupid and cruel people in your life. I'm not one of them, I promise. You'll see for yourself." Crowley broke the embrace and grinned at Mr Fell. "I told you, you're beautiful. I'll tell you every day, if you need."

Mr Fell took Crowley's hand and didn't let go for the rest of their roaming, following Crowley like a lovesick puppy. 

"So," Crowley said once they left the gallery, "do you want to get on with your day? Do you want to get on with our day? I could walk you home…" Crowley realised all too late that he had asked two questions in a row.

"Oh, I'm sure you have… places to be and things to do."

Crowley tilted his head, trying to figure out whether Mr Fell was implying something, but couldn't fathom a thing. 

"Alright then. Can I see you again?"  _ Third question in a row.  _

"Yes, please!" Mr Fell replied hastily.

Crowley didn't dare ask anymore questions. 

"Great. I'd love to. Have a good day, angel. I'll text you. Or call you. Whatever you're comfortable with." Crowley bowed curtly and sauntered away. 

***

Mr Fell returned to his flat and got sloshed. He was happy - and he was scared that Crowley would never call. Or text. Or anything. After all Mr Fell knew he wasn't an easy person to be around (he didn't know shit, but that's what he thought of himself and you know), wasn't attractive or particularly… whatever (same). Crowley was probably sharing a beer with his friends right now and they all laughed at Mr Fell. 

As it happened Crowley went to the botanical garden and was drawing a rosebush, thinking of how good it felt to hold Mr Fell in his arms.

Mr Fell proceeded to get even more sloshed, so Sunday was spent in bed and not the way Mr Fell would have wanted. He absent-mindedly looked at his phone and  _ good Lord. _

_ You're beautiful, angel. Hope you're having a nice day.  _

Mr Fell groaned and buried himself deeper into his many pillows. 

Monday morning Mr Fell called a cab and didn't look at his phone until he couldn't avoid it because Newt was calling. There was a message waiting for him.

_ Good morning, angel. You're beautiful. Have a great week. _

In the evening Mr Fell walked home. Yes, he definitely had to walk more. Mr Fell remembered he hadn't replied to either of Crowley's messages, but what was there to say? Mr Fell didn't reply. 

Tuesday morning began with  _ You're beautiful, angel. How are you? _

Mr Fell wanted to roll his eyes, but instead his heart skipped a beat and he felt lightheaded and… and… and happy. 

_ Thank you, my dear. I'm just fine. How are you? _

Mr Fell sighed. He could text, he could. He probably read colder than a frozen fish, but Crowley was so clever, Crowley had to understand. 

_ I'm alright too, angel. Are we still going to Oxford on Friday?  _

Mr Fell got a hold of it. He was a quick study.

_ We are, my dear. How about I buy you lunch or dinner tomorrow?  _

He was on a roll, he was!

_ I'd love to see you, angel. Neutral ground or would you like to come to my place for lunch? _

Mr Fell wasn't on a roll and couldn't text. 

_ Neutral ground. I can't buy you lunch at your place. _

There, he was sassy.

_ You're right, angel. Miss you and can't think clearly. I'll call you when I come to the library? _

Mr Fell expressed his agreement. He was sweating and his hands were shaking. He wanted to see Crowley that very moment, just to see him, to reassure himself that Crowley was real and cared about him. Mr Fell read some tear-jerking Dickens and went to bed crying.

Wednesday morning Mr Fell grabbed his phone as soon as he opened his eyes.  _ Morning, angel. Can't wait to see you today. You're beautiful.  _

Mr Fell cancelled his cab and rushed to the bus stop. Crowley lit like a match and gave Mr Fell his most besotted smile yet. 

"Aziraphale," he stated the obvious, then mouthed  _ thank you _ . Mr Fell sat quite near the driver's place and wondered how he could have denied himself that simplest of pleasures - a bus ride to work, watching Crowley and thinking of their time together. There had to be more of that time to come, Mr Fell was certain about it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lunch is had, and some very tender words are left unspoken but are heard all the same

Mr Fell saw Crowley by the entrance and stopped in his tracks. The darling boy was waiting for him, a smile graced his lips when he noticed Mr Fell. 

Crowley sauntered over to the older man and gave him a very, very naughty once over. "You know, angel, the first time I saw you I couldn't believe one could wear so much light colour. It suits you well. You look fantastic. Where are we going?"

_ Bed, now _ , Mr Fell thought. "There's a lovely sushi place nearby, if you're amenable."

"I'm very amenable, angel. I love sushi. I can stuff the whole thing into my mouth and no one would look at me in horror." Crowley blushed a bit and took his sunglasses off to wipe them clean with the hem of his work jumper, which was unnecessary.

"You have beautiful eyes, my dear. Are you hiding them in order to avoid an army of admirers?"

"Smooth, angel." Crowley smirked. "Light sensitive. My flat is very dark and moody."

"I'm sure it is, darling boy. Let's go." Mr Fell slid his arm into the crook of Crowley's elbow and they left the building. The weather was frightfully bad, the clouds had a very long and boring conference over London, but Mr Fell felt properly sunny. Crowley kissed him on the temple when they stepped outside the library and,  _ sweet darling,  _ apologised for it.

"No need to apologise, my darling. It's more than welcome." 

Taking it as a blanket permission Crowley kissed Mr Fell's temple again. 

***

They ate and chatted, Crowley being careful and Mr Fell being naughty. Everything was so good, it was meant to turn bad any moment, but it didn't. Crowley devoured his spicy salmon rolls and Mr Fell savoured each bite.

"That's it, angel, gonna learn to make sushi," Crowley announced, pushing the empty tray away.

"Oh you fiend, trying to lure me to your place."

"Does it work?" Crowley laughed, and oh what a sweet sound, what a lovely movement of his head… 

"Of course it doesn't," Mr Fell replied, meaning quite the opposite, but Crowley knew. 

***

When they left the restaurant Mr Fell pulled Crowley's arm by the hand, bowed a bit and let it rest over his shoulders. Mr Fell sighed at how right and lovely it felt. Crowley tugged Mr Fell closer and kissed him soundly on the lips.

"Oh darling…" Mr Fell raised his own hand and gently cupped Crowley's face. "You're spoiling me so."

"Nah. Not at all. If you ever let me spoil you, you'll see what I can do. I can do anything by the way, if you look at me like that."

Mr Fell laughed. He was so happy, so elated and it had to be over pretty soon. Crowley held him close as they walked, so nothing bad dared to happen. He was a head taller than Mr Fell, he was twenty years younger than Mr Fell and… and…

"Angel, stay with me," Crowley called gently. "I could kiss you to… ground you." A bashful smile, red hair mussed to look messy with the sunglasses stuck there, longing and mischievous eyes… Oh, Mr Fell tugged him closer and grounded himself alright. 

They stayed close after the kiss was over, foreheads pressed. 

"Hello, angel," Crowley called. 

"Hello, my dear," Mr Fell looked up to meet the other man's eyes. 

"Will I see you in the evening?"

"You will, dear boy."

"Thank you. That was lovely, seeing you in the middle of the day."

"Should do it more often then," Mr Fell's mouth replied - Mr Fell's mouth rebelled against Mr Fell's brain and conspired with his heart. Mr Fell was horrified.

"I'd love to, angel." Crowley pecked Mr Fell on the lips, giving Mr Fell's mouth more rebellious ideas. "See you tonight."

"See you, darling. Mind how you go."

It almost hurt to see Crowley leave, but for once Mr Fell focused on something pleasant and sweet - the feeling of Crowley's lips on his, the bashfulness of Crowley's smile, a promise of seeing him again, of having another lunch together… Mr Fell sighed and decided to have an awesome day full of awesome awesomeness and good work, and he did! 

The day proved to be indeed fruitful, Mr Fell's staff looked at him in awe, which they always did, but Mr Fell noticed only after ten years and some snogging. When in the evening Mr Fell boarded the bus, he looked victorious and received a wicked grin from Crowley as a reward well deserved.

"Can I call you tonight, angel?.. No, I'm not married, and no,  _ you  _ can't call me tonight, frankly, mate, I'd take a cab if I were you." A drunken amorous passenger dutifully stepped down. "The cheek!" Crowley huffed. "So?"

Mr Fell was laughing so hard his stomach hurt. "You're so handsome when you laugh," Crowley smiled at the road.

***

Crowley called at eleven. Mr Fell had been cozying up with Angela Carter and couldn't actually read a word. He answered immediately.

"Evening, angel. You're all ready for bed?"

Mr Fell  _ was  _ all ready for bed, but definitely not for sleep.

"No, my dear, not yet. Was waiting for you." Oh, it felt good to say it. Mr Fell had almost made peace with his mouth.

"Thank you, angel. I've just finished. How are you?"

"Tip top, my darling."

"Tip top?"

"Yes. Tickety-boo."

"Alright, you're a relic, angel, and I'm charmed."

"You know I'm older, darling…"

"Oh, no, this is not older, angel, this is a fossil. You're very handsome all the same. Did I tell you you're beautiful today?"

"You did," Mr Fell giggled.

"Wouldn't hurt to repeat. You're beautiful, angel." 

"You're rather good-looking yourself, my dear."

"Nah, everything about you is beautiful."

"This mutual admiration society meeting is now over," Mr Fell proclaimed. He was a bastard and Crowley was loving it. "Would you… would you like to tell me about your… usual day?"

"Of course I would! So I work half a shift in the morning and then half a shift in the evening which leaves me with a free afternoon for drawing, reading, napping and lunching with angels. Sometimes, when an opportunity to dine with angels presents itself, I work the whole shift in the morning. That's my routine. What do you think of it?"

"I think you're very considerate of angels."

"Just of one, to be honest. Do we count our lunch as a third date?"

"What are you implying, my dear demon?"

"Not implying anything. Just want to set the record straight, I mean gay. As far as I'm concerned every time I see you is a date."

"Then we've had much more than three dates."

"And isn't it lovely? I think we're pretty serious about each other. Should we finally make it exclusive?"

"You've been… dating someone else?" Mr Fell felt cold.

"Nah, angel, of course not. Unless you count the bus."

Mr Fell considered. He could count the bus. He was quite jealous of the bus, if he was being honest. 

"I'm jealous of your bus."

"Angel, my relationship with my bus is strictly platonic. Shall we have another lunch tomorrow?"

"Definitely. Please."

"No need to ask, angel. I'd be happy to. That would make it four…"

Mr Fell's mouth rebelled spectacularly and said:

"You could come over to mine now, then tomorrow will be five." 

Mr Fell experienced what the universe experienced being born. Entire galaxies of besotted nonsense flew in every direction like Crowley's hair in the wind. Mr Fell looked at his wine. He hadn't had that much.

"I'd love to." 

"But you need to get up early, and I'd hate to rob you off your sleep and… Although you're very welcome to stay the night."

Mr Fell could tell Crowley's mouth was dry. Mr Fell's mouth was dry too, served it right, the rebellious organ, although by far not the only organ in Mr Fell's body to rebel against Mr Fell's fussy and concerned brain. For example, Mr Fell's cock was being Jacobin. 

"Angel, I'm five minutes away from your place. Do you want me to come?" 

"I do have a dryer," Mr Fell replied.

"Ok." Crowley wasn't following but he didn't want to follow ever if it was Aziraphale's nonsense he was listening to.

"I have no idea how to use it though. I'm afraid I have a housekeeper. Haven't seen her in years, to be honest, but…"

"Would you like me to come over and teach you how to use the dryer?"

"I… I can't let you see me naked. Not yet. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" The Jacobins were being guillotined one by one.

"Alright, angel, listen to me. I can come over now and stay the night. My silly cabbage, I'm sure it would take me forever to get rid of all your layers. I'd think of you as naked if you're in your shirtsleeves."

Mr Fell blushed - he  _ was  _ in his shirtsleeves. And - oh the scandal! - no socks.

"I'm tired, so even if you wanted to do something unbecoming of such a fine gentleman, I'm afraid this proletarian would fall asleep somewhere in the vicinity of your trousers. I'm so honoured you trust me so much that you invite me over. Believe me, I'd love to come to yours and stay the night and use your dryer, but if you are not sure, then I'll see you in the morning as usual… I hope it's usual again. Is it?"

"Of course, dear."

"Great! Then we'll have our lunch. I can sort my shifts so that I'm available in the evening next week, then we could hang out at yours. Or mine. Or go feed the ducks. Do you like feeding the ducks? We're going to listen to some awesome Monteverdi in two days, and maybe you'd want to spend the night at mine or want me to spend the night at yours when we return. We can have a very lazy Saturday. I learned to make crepes. Sushi is still… a bit difficult, but it's hardly a breakfast food, unless of course you want to eat sushi for breakfast. Still with me, angel?"

_ Oh yes, my darling, my sweet boy, I'm with you and yours for as long as you'll have me.  _ Mr Fell's brain turned Jacobin too, but like, really kind and smitten Jacobins, so not Jacobin exactly, but it still was a revolution, and Mr Fell welcomed it like Karl Marx would have.

"Still with you, darling."

"I'm happy you are. Want to talk some more?"

"Where… where do you live?"

"Canada Water."

"Why there?"

"Central London but relatively cheap. I don't eat out often, so my expenses are mostly rent and art supplies… I've been buying clothes in second hand stores for as long as I've been buying my own clothes… some wicked shoes every now and then, though. So it's all quite… organised. Army training, at a guess. I can work more extra hours if I need… I've been working a full morning shift plus half the evening shift lately, because it's getting boring without you."

Mr Fell felt he was being transformed into some mighty and powerful entity. He wanted to hold Crowley close and nuzzle his hair and listen to him talk. 

"Do you buy books?"

"Mostly libraries. If I like something a lot, I buy it."

"What was the last book you liked?"

"Hm… let me think. Oh, I finally got my hands on Sagan, so Sagan it is."

Mr Fell was jealous of Sagan. Mr Fell wanted Crowley to get his hands on Mr Fell, thank you very much. 

"I'm quite jealous of Sagan."

"You… you silly angel. Don't you know that no one compares to you?"

Mr Fell didn't know it and wanted to cry. And hold Crowley close. 

"If I say what I want to, angel, it'll freak you out, and I don't want that," Crowley said quietly. "But you know, don't you? You can feel it, can't you?"

Mr Fell could. He could also feel the lump in his throat and hear everything inside him yell that he had to do something, to say something, to reassure Crowley, to let him know…

"I can, Anthony."

"I like how you say my name. Angel?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I can feel it from you too."

Bugger all, Mr Fell was entirely ready to let Crowley see him naked - Crowley saw Mr Fell naked all the same.

"My darling, sweet boy… I…"

"It's alright, angel. Please go to bed now, ok? I'll see you tomorrow morning. Lunch on me this time. Hey, how about I work some more next month and take you to the Ritz? Angels should dine at the Ritz."

"What's the point of me being one of the highest paid public servants then? I'll take us to the Ritz tomorrow, if you want."

"Tempting… are you sure you're an angel? I can't dress sharply enough for Ritz tomorrow, angel. Suits kill me. A good henley is the best."

Mr Fell had a vivid vision of opening the buttons of Crowley's henley and kissing every inch of skin exposed as he went. 

"And some very tight pants, my dear."

"Nah, they are comfy. And make you  _ look,  _ Mr Fancy Pants."

"I do look," Mr Fell giggled.

"Keep looking, angel. I like the way you look at me, especially when you think I can't notice." Crowley didn't sound prying or predatory or accusatory or any other bad thing Mr Fell had in mind. He sounded tender. Knowing. It felt so good to be known by Crowley.

"Thank you for calling me tonight, my dear boy. Will you call me tomorrow too?"

"I will, angel. Oh fuck, I only need your permission to call you every evening. Good night, angel. I… good night."

"Good night, my darling."

Mr Fell slept well and woke up rested. He dressed meticulously, that is more meticulously than ever. Crowley greeted him with a smile. 

It didn't show on Crowley's face, but he had spent the night tossing and turning and looking out at the skyscrapers and dreaming about Aziraphale snuggled up in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next SMUT! Yes, Monteverdi is that hot, people.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monteverdi is late for his train, and here be smut. It's as slow as two snails having a passionate intercourse.

Mr Fell was happy. No, let me rephrase, nay, reformat it. **_Mr Fell was happy._ **

Every day for two days Mr Fell got to see Crowley in the morning and in the evening. They had lunch together, Crowley would call Mr Fell late at night. Friday was approaching, and with it - a trip to Oxford, music (such wonderful music!), a trip back to London and, _oh please, me, let them have it,_ a sleepover at Mr Fell's. Crowley bought a new coat, something elegant and tight and of course black. Crowley showed it off during their Friday lunch, the collar standing high and proud, framing Crowley's face and being in its awesomeness quite contradictory to the playful expression of Crowley's face. 

"I'll see you in a few hours, darling," Mr Fell said.

"Looking forward to it, angel. I'm still staying at yours afterwards?" Crowley asked.

Mr Fell took a very, very, very deep breath and let his mouth get the best of him. "Yes, my dear. Bring condoms."

"Ngk," said Crowley and blushed. Mr Fell wanted him so much right that minute it was almost unbearable. "You sure, angel? We don't have to…"

Mr Fell let his hands get the best of him and yanked Crowley into a kiss, messy and French. Someone whistled at them, so Mr Fell lost all of his confidence and moved to part from Crowley, but was yanked back with a devious _Let them stare, angel, they're just jealous._

Although Mr Arch made some nasty remarks that day, concerning Mr Fell's physique and general unattractiveness, Mr Fell proudly ignored it. What could Mr Arch know after all? Mr Fell still felt the heat of Crowley's lips and the strength of their embrace, his mind was full of images of Crowley's toothbrush in Mr Fell's bathroom, Crowley's clothes tossed around Mr Fell's flat, Crowley's… ehm… Crowley in Mr Fell's bed, sleepy and preferably with kiss-bitten lips and a couple of hickeys. Mr Fell felt so excited and infatuated he discovered he didn't care if he was naked with Crowley. He was actually quite impatient to get decidedly indecent in the young man's arms.

Crowley picked Mr Fell up and they walked to the station hand in hand. Crowley was wearing perfectly creased narrow pants, his shoes were polished so well one could check their hair looking at them, there was a burgundy turtleneck under his new coat, he was carrying a neatly packed messenger bag (worn but still stylish, something Mr Fell wouldn't mind owning himself) and most importantly, he was all Mr Fell's for the next millennia… Excuse him, he's a besotted fool and his best self right now. He meant the next two or so days. Time is relative, everything is relative. 

Crowley held Mr Fell's hand on the way to the station, at the station, on the train, off the train, on the way to the concert and through the concert. Mr Fell even made a joke about it. 

"Well, angel, we fit perfectly, so why should I let go off your hand? Or do you need it right now?"

Mr Fell couldn't need his hand any less… No, he did need his hand for precisely what it was occupied with - holding Crowley's hand.

"No, darling, I only need it to hold your hand right now."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

Somewhere around _Laudate Pueri_ (number four) Mr Fell had the urge to be a bastard, so he rubbed Crowley's hand with his thumb, leaned closer and asked his transfixed companion whether he was carrying condoms. Crowley choked on a bit of chunky air (really, the air in Oxford was just like badly made mashed potatoes) and nodded a few more times than was necessary. Mr Fell was quite jealous of Monteverdi, to be honest. See, Mr Fell's _darling boy, lord of his heart_ (Mr Fell's heart deflected to Crowley and pledged its allegiance and eternal devotion to Crowley's freckles, clever hands, quick mind and sinful hips) was sitting there, looking at the choir, listening to that damn old dead priest (no offense, signor Monteverdi, he's an idiot) with rapt attention, enviable focus and excitement more befitting a rock concert. Crowley even swayed with the music and rocked his head in time, _oh dear he was singing along_! Mr Fell wanted to go home or, alternatively, sit there, in a cathedral, high above and high on Crowley's company.

"Darling, why did you have two tickets? What would you do if I hadn't agreed to come with you?" Mr Fell asked during _Lauda Jerusalem._

"What?" Crowley replied without looking at Mr Fell. Now, that wouldn't do, that wouldn't do at all. Mr Fell repeated the question louder and was hissed at. Crowley snapped his head to look at the hisser and the hisser somehow regretted every decision in his hissing life. "What did you say, angel?"

That was better. Mr Fell repeated the question again.

"Oh, I would have tortured my friend Ana. She works in the office… She'd come with me if I allowed her to read my aura or tell me about everyone else's auras. It's unnerving how right she always is…"

Mr Fell didn't like that Ana friend at all, not one bit. Did Crowley have any more friends? Mr Fell remembered Crowley had mentioned a neighbour of his called Bea. He didn't like them either. Probably they would laugh at him and wouldn't even want to meet him and there were Crowley's lips by Mr Fell's ear.

"It's alright, angel. They are friends. I have only one angel. I told them about you… They laughed at me and said I was being silly. Bea told me, and I quote, _to just ask the fucking posh guy out already, can't stand you talking about him all the bloody time_ about a week after we had met."

"You… gushed about me?" Mr Fell turned his head, and his nose ended up being kissed. Mr Fell's nose deflected to Crowley too, which had to be the only reasonable explanation for Mr Fell's difficulties with his respiratory system. 

"Of course I gushed about you. I just like gushing about you to you, you know? Did I tell you are beautiful today?"

"Yes, darling, you did. You do it every day."

"Hm, sounds like I'm being a _darling boy_ indeed."

The man behind them hissed that they had to get a room and that they were in a fucking cathedral. 

Crowley put his arm over Mr Fell's shoulders and looked at the man behind them.

"You, on the other hand, appear to be a fucking homophobe."

"Oh, I wish," the man whispered. "My husband is working late and stood me up. There'd better be some fucking. I'm just rooting for you, guys, and you're ruining my only pleasure tonight."

Crowley hummed approvingly and apologised. His arm stayed on Mr Fell's shoulders.

Mr Fell came to a conclusion that Monteverdi was a very slow guy, this _Magnificat_ business had to wrap up really soon, preferably yesterday, and didn't Monteverdi have a train to catch? Or a carriage… or a bus. Oh, to be in love and on the bus…

***

Crowley was standing by one of Mr Fell's book closets cradling a glass of wine, golden and soft, fuzzy around the edges, a bit tired, fucking belonging right there. Mr Fell was watching him from his armchair, his wine forgotten and his heart aching with tenderness. Crowley had ordered them a takeaway, which was waiting for them at the concierge's. The concierge was grumpy, so Crowley asked him whether he wanted an extra dessert. The concierge looked at Crowley in horror and admiration. I believe that's what the word _awe_ was invented for. Mr Fell giggled and tugged Crowley along to the lift. Crowley managed to leave the extra dessert by the concierge.

"I could have eaten it, darling."

"Don't worry, angel, I ordered five. Knew I'd need to bribe someone."

"You could always bribe me, my dear."

"Do you need such cheap and easy bribery, angel? I could get you the moon, you know."

"No, you couldn't."

Crowley shook his head and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a round makeup removal pad. Crowley held it in his fingers with a look of mischief proudly managed. Mr Fell had to kiss him, and it wasn't a searing, wet, messy, open-mouthed, hungry or whatever kiss. It was soft and gentle and careful, lips pressed to lips, nothing more, yet all the more heart-wrenching for it - as if they had no more time left, although their time had just begun, but being mortals, humans tend to get that melancholic sense of an ending in the most inappropriate moments. And it felt as if they had been doing this lift-riding thing after a lovely evening together for about two thousand years, give or take. Mr Fell looked at Crowley, searching his face for something. Whatever it was, he found it.

"I know, my dear," he whispered.

"I know too, angel," Crowley whispered back.

And in the morning Mr Fell would ask about how that pad ended up in Crowley's pocket, and Crowley would reply that Ana and Bea tried to do his eyes and screwed up, and Crowley was running late, so he spent his time on the Tube getting rid of the makeup. "Proved handy, though."

But that would be morning, the second half of the first day, and now it was evening, night almost, and Crowley was glowing.

"You have _On Growth and Form_ … Of course you do. Was the first book I bought for myself, when I was fourteen or something."

"You belong here," Mr Fell replied. Crowley turned to him and grinned, shaking his messy head. 

"Too posh for me, angel."

"You look like a prince, darling, you deserve posh." 

Crowley laughed. Monteverdi or Mozart or any other composer whose name started with an _M_ had nothing on Crowley's laughter, his neck exposed (he had taken his turtleneck off, revealing the softest grey henley) and his head tossed back. Mr Fell wanted to eat him. _Oh Mr Fell!_

"Bath or shower, my dear?"

"Whichever you share with me, angel… If you want, that is."

Crowley walked over to Mr Fell and held his hand out in invitation. Mr Fell took it. 

"Shower would be nice, darling." 

"Shower it is, then. Lead the way."

Mr Fell wasn't much of a leader, but admittedly he could lead a man to the bathroom. 

"May I?" Crowley's hands nudged at the collar of Mr Fell's shirt. 

"Please, my heart."

Crowley nodded and began unbuttoning the shirt, kissing Mr Fell's cheeks and eyes and nose and forehead and of course lips as he went. Mr Fell put his hands on Crowley's hips, mostly so that he had something to hold on to, but it was nice.

Underneath Mr Fell's shirt there was an undershirt. Crowley looked Mr Fell in the eye, a mischievous sparkle in his gaze. "Let me count it," Crowley began pushing the shirt down Mr Fell's arms. "Coat, jacket, waistcoat, now shirt _and_ undershirt. I knew you weren't real. Just a cloud dressed up as a human. Well done, cloud."

The undershirt was tossed aside with fond frustration. "Angel," Crowley pushed his head under Mr Fell's jaw, kissing there as well, "you're absolutely breathtaking. My inhaler is in my bag, if you prove to snitch my breath away, you beautiful thief."

"You didn't say…"

"Don't worry, it's alright. Haven't had an attack in years…" Crowley moved to caress Mr Fell's wide back, soft fluffy hair covering even softer skin. "You are beautiful. I don't think I tell you this often enough. You're beautiful when you're fussy and when you're sad and when you are…" Fluffy hair on Mr Fell's chest tickled Crowley's nose and he sneezed. 

"Sorry about that," he glanced up at Mr Fell who had been so quiet because all of his body deflected to Crowley now, and he didn't know how he was supposed to talk when this ginger miracle was covering him in kisses. 

"And if I fart?" Mr Fell asked. I swear, he's a very smart man, he's just, you know, being kissed.

"Worse things happened." Crowley got down on his knees to kiss and lick Mr Fell's belly, something Mr Fell was more ashamed of than of any other part of his body. It deflected to Crowley and thought itself unwelcome, but the lord and master of the entirety of Mr Fell seemed to disagree. 

"Then you shouldn't apologise for sneezing." 

"My soft angel, my beautiful, soft, warm angel. You're so lovely…" Crowley's fingers were on the hem of Mr Fell's trousers. "May I?"

Mr Fell decided to just nod. 

Crowley just nodded too and made a quick work of Mr Fell's trousers and underpants. "Alright," Crowley said, gazing at Mr Fell's hips and fully erect cock, "I have a thing for your hips. Just so you know." 

Crowley helped Mr Fell step out of his clothes, taking Mr Fell's socks and breath too. 

"Who has ever told you… doesn't matter. I'll drive them over with my bus during the rush hour. Fuck them. They don't exist. I'm so taking you to every Reubens painting and explaining it in great detail how even Reubens wouldn't do you justice."

"You like Reubens?"

"Of course I like Reubens. What, you thought I only went for the skinny of Dürer's and El Greco's? I see plenty of skinny in the mirror." Crowley undressed himself so quickly Mr Fell's feverish deflecting mind didn't notice. 

"I'm all… sharp." Crowley shrugged uncomfortably.

"You are…" Mr Fell pushed his hand to Crowley's chest, red hair and pale skin. "You are… you are an arrow, then." 

Mr Fell held him close and tight and kissed the remaining breath out of Crowley. Mr Fell's hands roamed over Crowley's body just as easily as the rest of Mr Fell roamed with Crowley through the National Gallery. He made the boldest decision of his life to keep kissing Crowley as he tugged him into the shower. He kept kissing Crowley as he fumbled with the taps. 

They both were startled by the lukewarm water, but Mr Fell would have none of it. The water was getting warmer anyway, and Crowley was wet, was digging his fingers into Mr Fell's thighs, didn't seem bothered by the softness under his hands. Good lord, he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, if those muffled moans were any indication. 

Mr Fell was being swayed under the shower, which he thought of as sweet and romantic, until he realised that Crowley was swaying and shifting so that Mr Fell could get more warm water, and from then on Mr discovered a completely new level of sweetness, with an exquisite touch of tanginess to it. 

"Can I wash you?" Crowley asked. 

"Yes… Can I wash you too?"

"Oh, fuck, please." 

Crowley's hair felt dry and sticky because of the mousse, and Mr Fell's hair felt just as soft as the rest of him. They smiled at each other, spluttered away from each other and were overall tender and ridiculous. Crowley got bolder _\- oh, please, Crowley, you have no idea_ \- and touched Mr Fell's cock. Rather extraordinary amounts of soap helped this long-awaited enterprise. He had to hold Mr Fell around the waist, because the man was about to lose the battle with his trembling knees.

"My beautiful soft angel, my darling, it feels so right to touch you and pleasure you, and I barely even started."

Mr Fell's reply was unintelligible. Something along the same lines, to be sure. He was holding on to Crowley for dear life, some part of his brain screamed that he had to do something too, to touch Crowley's cock or at least kiss him again, yet his body was too much attuned to the pleasure, something forgotten or even sadder, never experienced before, not like that, not with so much trust. Mr Fell buckled his hips forward, inadvertently making it easier for Crowley's member to join Mr Fell's in Crowley's palm.

"Feels good like this… together," Crowley whispered.

"It does, rather. Darling, please don't think… don't think I… don't want to do something for you, I just… just can't really move right now. You're making me feel so… so good."

"Then it's all I want you to do now, angel, - feel good and cared for and safe and lo… looked at like you deserve. Do you want to come like this?"

"N-no. Want you… in bed. Want you in bed."

"I want you in bed too."

Crowley swayed them some more to get all the soap off and stepped out of the shower first. There were two incredibly fluffy towels at the ready.

"Prepared for me, angel?" Crowley grinned. 

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. Wouldn't think of it. Makes me all… giddy, you know? That you expected me." Crowley wrapped Mr Fell in one towel, helped him to exit the shower, and only then took his towel and dried himself. 

"Bedroom, angel?"

Mr Fell just nodded. "Will you be able to walk?" Crowley lifted Mr Fell's face to look him in the dazed eye.

"Doubt it…"

"Oh angel, are you truly alright?"

"More than so, it's a very unusual feeling."

"Gotta do it more often." Crowley gently led Mr Fell towards the bed.

He sat him down, carefully dried him, peppering his skin with kisses. Mr Fell noticed the younger man was on his knees between Mr Fell's thighs. He finally managed to focus on Crowley's face and called him.

"Yes, angel?" Crowley looked up.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what, Aziraphale?"

"On your knees…"

"Well, I believe Wilde might have mentioned something about the knees." Crowley winked. Mr Fell's brain short-circuited, because in his _wildest_ dreams he imagined his partner quoting Wilde in bed. 

"I'm doing it because I'm so happy to be here." Kiss, or maybe ten. "I'm doing it because I'm so honoured to have your trust, to see you naked in all your glorious softness and fluffiness." A hand around Mr Fell's cock. "I'm doing it because I want you so very much, I like you so very much, I want to make you happy. What do you want, angel? How should we proceed?" _Two questions in a row, again. Get it together!_

"I want everything," Mr Fell replied honestly. 

"That's the spirit, you hedonistic treasure. I put the condoms and the lube in the nightstand earlier, so l don't need to leave your side for the foreseeable future."

Mr Fell made an undescribable sound. Might have been a sob, might have been a laughter. He might have just as well choked on something. He'd like to choke on Crowley's cock, though. Aaaand it had to wait, Crowley being the fast darling he was, took Mr Fell into his mouth and moaned loudly. Mr Fell discovered he had two handfuls of Crowley's hair. Crowley didn't mind. 

Mr Fell leaned forward and kissed the top of Crowley's head. Straightening up wasn't an option anymore, so he just rested his cheek on Crowley's head and tried not to sound too greedy, although he was of course. He was starving for the tenderness and… 

Crowley had no trouble straightening up apparently because he did just that, breathing heavily, lips glistening with spit.

"This is very sweet, angel, but I can't breathe like this. It's a bummer I know. Here, let's get you lying down." Crowley helped Mr Fell to settle on his pillows. 

"C-come here, darling. Want to be returning the favour… Please."

"No favours here, angel. _Favour_ is not the right word here." Crowley shook his head vehemently. He complied immediately and Mr Fell pulled Crowley's hips, Mr Fell's head happily trapped, pardon snuggled between Crowley's legs and his mouth occupied so well, that Crowley groaned around his own mouthful. Oh, that was divine, heavenly sinful, if you know what I mean. Mr Fell wanted to stay there forever, sucking and touching and latching onto Crowley's skin, caressing him, cupping his very bony arse, getting an occasional hair stuck in his mouth, having his nose all ticklish against the rest of hair, it was absolutely, decidedly indecent and therefore wonderful, until the warmth of Crowley's mouth disappeared along with the warmth of Crowley's cock in Mr Fell's mouth. Well, of course, of course, silly old man! He had just dreamed it all. He whined at the loss...

Two unbearably tender eyes looked at Mr Fell, long cool fingers ghosted over Mr Fell's cheeks and jaw.

"I just wanted to ask… Would you like… would you like me inside you?"

"You… you weren't enjoying yourself?"

"My naive fussy cabbage!" Crowley fell over Mr Fell (funny, huh?) and held him just short of strangling the man. "I can't get enough of you, I want everything with you, and I want it now. I'm sorry… that's why I'm asking."

"I want you. Inside, that is. And outside. Want you everywhere."

Crowley grinned and reached for the nightstand to grab the lube and condoms. "I'll suck you while I'm opening you, ok? I'll make it slow, I swear. You can come down my throat, if you like. I'm afraid I can't let you resume your own wicked work… Angel, you have such a warm mouth, I… I can't even. I don't want to come now. It's been a while and might be over too soon. I'm intending to make it last for you."

Mr Fell suspected he hadn't heard half the words Crowley had been saying, but he understood, with substantial effort, that he couldn't suck on Crowley's cock, but Crowley would keep sucking on his and Crowley wanted to fuck him. So Mr Fell nodded. 

Crowley, having received this enthusiastic sign of consent, resumed his soft killing of every part of Mr Fell that had anything to do with troubles and worries. Mr Fell felt impossibly light, happier than ever, both aroused and nowhere near completion somehow, despite the fact that it had been far too long for him as well. His lips tingled when Crowley kissed the crease between Mr Fell's thigh and torso, his shoulders turned hot when Crowley slid his finger inside Mr Fell, honey-gold currents of something fiery and light replaced his blood, and Mr Fell sensed, for the first time in his life, that he was one whole, glorious, living body, that he wasn't Mr Fell, at least not at the moment, as much as he was _Aziraphale_ , the way Crowley said it.

Crowley's sharp and disheveled form appeared above Aziraphale, and he felt Crowley slide inside. 

"There you are, angel, and here I am." Crowley lowered himself so that their torsos touched all the way down to where they were connected. He kissed Aziraphale softly and sweetly, like a thing precious, fragile and alive, something to be approached delicately. Aziraphale didn't dare breathe.

"How are you feeling, angel? Does it hurt?" Crowley propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand moved down in one slow and long caress to hold Aziraphale's hip. 

"It doesn't. It… you will never hurt me."

"That's right, angel," Crowley whispered. "Should I move?"

"Please…"

Crowley canted his hips slowly, barely a movement, more like a ripple through the air. 

"Say my name, angel."

"Anthony."

"Yessss…" Crowley moved again, this time with purpose. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley's waist, his arms moved just below Crowley's armpits, his hands found purchase on Crowley's shoulder blades. He leaned up to press his cheek against Crowley's. 

"Yesss, angel… you're incredible, how are you even real… sorry I was so late, sorry I left you alone for so long. It won't happen again, I promise… I promise…" Crowley cradled the back of Aziraphale's head in his hand, nudging the older man to turn his face to Crowley for a kiss. 

"Darling boy… you… you will stay... Oh, you will… I love you."

Crowley groaned desperately, his hips came to a shuddering halt as he orgasmed, but he didn't allow himself even a moment to catch his breath moving instead to kiss all over Aziraphale's face. "You… love you, love you, love you… you silly, you brilliant, you treasure…" He pulled out and scooted down. (Phrasal verbs are handy and can both ruin and create a moment, like in this case, when Crowley pulled out, Aziraphale whined and the moment was ruined, but then Crowley, all sweat and sweet mutterings, scooted down to take Aziraphale's cock into his mouth again, and there, the moment was created anew.)

Aziraphale's own climax came as a slow wave of warmth and calm. He looked down at Crowley, Aziraphale's spend dripping from his mouth and his eyes yearning somehow.

"Darling… come here… love, please."

Crowley swallowed. "A moment. Want to kiss you better. May I?"

"You may, but I want you here."

Without further ado Crowley crawled over Aziraphale and collapsed on his chest. Aziraphale gingerly caressed Crowley's cheek and ran his trembling fingers through Crowley's hair. 

"Angel… you're brilliant."

"I barely did anything," Aziraphale chuckled. 

Crowley made an effort to raise his head and look at the other man. "You did everything. Look at you. So smart and stubborn and beautiful… So tender and tight around me, so soft underneath me…" Crowley kissed Aziraphale. "Come here," he turned them over, gently pulling Aziraphale's head to his chest. "There. I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people here have been such delightful supporters of my ridiculousness, I can't thank you enough, and special thanks to Sani86 who makes sure I don't embarrass myself with way too much ridiculousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Of all the things Mr Fell could have woken up to, his brain opted to concentrate on two unpleasant facts. First, Mr Fell was sore in the arse, he really should have let Crowley kiss it better. Oh no. Oh fuck. Second, Mr Fell told Crowley he loved him. 

Now, Mr Fell's brain could have gone for lanky arms and legs wrapped around Mr Fell from behind, or the way Crowley's breath moved small hairs on the back of Mr Fell's neck, or at the very least, for the undeniable reality of Crowley saying the same thing Mr Fell said.

Fortunately, Mr Fell's brain loaded fully, and Mr Fell sighed. It wasn't  _ like that _ , Crowley would never hurt him, would never mock him. Yes, they had known each other for two weeks and about six dates, but Crowley would never harm Mr Fell.

He felt Crowley moving behind him, then the younger man's head peeked curiously over Mr Fell's shoulder. "Morning, angel. Sorry, morning breath. I'll kiss you somewhere you can't smell me."

Somewhere of choice was Mr Fell's back.

"Oh, I'm such a bad lover, angel, I didn't spend enough time on your back… My stupid desire to see your face… Well, it's not stupid, it shows my remarkably good taste, and oh, angel, you taste amazing." Crowley licked down from Aziraphale's neck to the small of his back, and good prose doesn't rhyme, but whatevs, it's just fine. A teasing finger brushed against the head of Aziraphale's cock, quickly joined by a full palm of teasing fingers. Crowley bit a buttock and spread the cheeks to have a look. "Angel, I  _ had  _ to kiss you better!" So Crowley did just that. And some more of that. "It's unfair to your gorgeous backside to receive all of my morning breath. I'll do it again after brushing my teeth… whoa…" 

Crowley landed on his back, Aziraphale's mouth sucking at his neck. "I had a vision," Aziraphale explained, "of you… with at least two hickeys. Love bites."

"Aw, I love you too, angel."

_ Just trust your heart _ , said Mr Fell's heart, pushing Mr Fell's brain somewhere where it could relax with a Martini. 

Mr Fell lavished Crowley with kisses and a few careful bites, until he was all the way down to the floor. Mr Fell hoisted Crowley's legs up and over his shoulders and went straight (gay, you English language, really, get a hold of yourself, develop!) for Crowley's hole. Mr Fell was a bastard of the highest order, so he was determined to show Crowley some  _ kissing better _ , he was. 

"Talk to me, angel," Crowley asked suddenly.

Mr Fell looked up in confusion. 

"Why are you doing this, angel?"

"Oh, my darling boy, my sweet, my dear, I'm doing this because I'm happy, because you're here with me, because you don't look disgusted in the morning, because you said you love me… Because yesterday I… I couldn't move from how good you made me feel, how full, how alive. I want you to feel the same, I want to pleasure you, because… because I have been waiting for you, it turns out, and you, wicked thing, weren't born on time."

Crowley sat up at light speed and held Aziraphale close, pressing that beautiful, silly face into his flat stomach. "You… you fussy cabbage, you old silly, fuck, do whatever you want… Fuck, fuck, fuck, angel, do I get to spend the morning with you? Do I get to make you breakfast?"  _ Two questions in a row, Crowley, don't get your hopes up way too high. _

"I want to eat you as an appetizer. You're too skinny for a whole meal."

Crowley laughed, Aziraphale returned to laving at Crowley's hole, adding an occasional slow caress of the young man's cock to the act. Narrow hips shuddered and Crowley seemed so sweet, so hopefully open, that Aziraphale kissed his lips, no tongues or whatever, morning breath and all. Crowley was having none of it and went for tongues and everything. The morning breath wasn't so bad once one got used to it.

They had a bath and a guilty cigarette, in the bath. Mr Fell's head lay under Crowley's chin, which, with the general sharpness of Crowley, was just about the same as holding a gun to Mr Fell's head, so Mr Fell's brain behaved well and was signing its duties off to Mr Fell's heart, mouth, cock and some utopian part of Mr Fell's mind that still believed in love, handsome men, bus drivers and happy endings. 

Mr Fell asked Crowley to read to him whichever book the young man had in his bag. Turned out Crowley carried around at least three books and needed his super duper sunglasses to read, so there Mr Fell was, the director of the British Library, resting on the chest of one handsome bugger of a bus driver, twenty years his junior, listening to Crowley read Thomas Mann for him, as Mr Fell smoked. 

"You know, darling," Aziraphale interrupted Schiller's inner monologue (a lovely short story about Schiller being angsty and thirsting after Goethe, google it), "this is even better than sex."

"I wasn't having sex with you, angel. I had sex with anyone before you, but to you this sentimental proletarian was making love. Oh, look at me, speaking of myself in the third person."

"Told you, you're a prince." Mr Fell passed the cigarette to Crowley. 

"Nah, I'm your jester, maximum, and you're my king, and I'm cheesier than Mac and cheese."

Mr Fell giggled happily. 

"How's your arse, angel?"

"Seen better days, but definitely not happier ones."

Crowley pensively nodded as he deciphered Mr Fell's words. "Should I get on with Schiller being a goner for Goethe?"

"Please do." Mr Fell ran a finger along Crowley's arm on the ledge of the bath, while the other man resumed reading. "Do you… do you think I could keep it forever?"

"I doubt it, angel, it's a very short story."

"I meant you, my dear."

"I know. You ask stupid questions." 

Mr Fell looked up to see Crowley blushing.

"Darling, you don't get to blush, you ate my arse."

Crowley blushed some more. "Shut up. You're just too smart to hear me reading Thomas Mann."

"Darling," Mr Fell turned around to look at Crowley's flustered face, "you are… you made me alive, and I don't give a damn how cheesily it sounds, because it's true. Do you understand? I was a dead man walking before."

"Nah, angel, you were just somehow unloved." Crowley was pointedly looking into the book in his shaking hand.

"And that's the very definition of being a dead man walking."

"Shall we get on with it?"

"It being what?" Mr Fell asked coyly, kissing Crowley's nose. 

"Oh, so no Thomas Mann. I could live with that." Crowley tossed the book aside and snogged Mr Fell so silly he couldn't explain to Crowley where the eggs were a few hours after the kiss and whatever debauchery that followed it. 

***

Crowley was casually shoving the food down his mouth when his phone buzzed very rudely and pretty persistently. Mr Fell nodded at the phone with a look of fond exasperation. 

"It's Bea, angel. They are gonna ask me all sorts of questions."

"Oh, then I'd love to watch you answering them all," Mr Fell replied because he was a bastard. Crowley answered the call, and Bea's voice boomed through the kitchen.

"Crowleyyyyyyyy, are you alive? Did you die of boredom during that silly music of yours?"

"I'll have you know, Bea, that you're very loud and that Monteverdi isn't silly, no, not at all. What do you want?"

"It's the karaoke night!"

"I told you, I'm busy!"

"Oh, did Mr Posh Guy fucked you so well you can't sing?"

"Actually it was the other way round and  _ Aziraphale  _ can hear you."

"Well, then… Sorry,  _ Aziraphale.  _ Crowley didn't have to put me on speaker, yeah… does anyone of you need rescuing?"

"From what, my dear?" Mr Fell asked, very innocently.

"Oh, I don't know. He's buggering you in every sense of the word and you can't take it anymore? You're buggering him so much he won't be able to work?"

"How very considerate of you! I'm so glad Crowley had such good friends! Now, can we please get on with our day?"

"Oh, by all means, but drag his skinny arse over to our karaoke night. You're invited of course."

"I'll see what I can do." Mr Fell ended the call.

"Sorry, angel."

"What for, my love? A wise man told me once never to apologise for being me. I assumed you applied it to yourself as well. And your arse  _ is  _ skinny."

"Angel, seriously, do you want to meet Bea and Ana? They will make all sorts of silly jokes that might make you feel uncomfortable."

"Like what, darling?"

"Like  _ Crowley, you gold-digger, got yourself a proper old gentleman, lucky you.  _ I don't want you to think of me… of us that way. You know… you know, don't you?"

Mr Fell paused. Such jokes would befit Mr Arch, but he would mean every word of it.

"Do they mean it? Do they think of you, of us this way?"

"No, they don't. But they find it… hilarious, I guess? When I told them about you… like…  _ Crowley, you're a socialist, how ironic it is for you that you fell for Mr Fancy Pants.  _ And I didn't even want to talk to them… I only wanted to talk to you, to get to know you, and… I don't want you to be nervous over their jokes."

"But… you're not… embarrassed of me?"

"Why would I ever be embarrassed of you, angel? You're all I've been thinking about since the day you got on my bus for the first time. I read Sagan and thought, oh, what would my angel think? What would he say? What would I reply? Would he find me so witty that he wouldn't be able to hold himself together and would kiss me?"

"Oh darling…" Mr Fell stood up and walked over to Crowley to hold him. "My witty darling, my sweet boy…" Aziraphale kissed Crowley's face and felt Crowley's hands closing over Aziraphale's wrists. "Do you realise how lucky I am to have you?" Mr Fell asked.

"Nah, you could make your point clearer."

"Well, it will make  _ your _ arse  _ very  _ sore indeed."

"Try me!" Crowley challenged. He didn't exactly regret it, but Mr Fell was the man of his word. (Crowley spared a thought for his arse during the afternoon shift he had the next day, but it was but a small price to pay for Aziraphale's smitten face as the older man watched Crowley squirming underneath him and beg,  _ beg,  _ **_beg_ ** for Aziraphale to go harder, to go faster, to fucking move. Aziraphale couldn't help but oblige.)

***

It was getting dark when Crowley finally crawled off Aziraphale's bed and right into Aziraphale's arms.

"Darling, are you quite alright?"

"Well, angel, point taken. You seem to be very lucky to have me indeed. Don't bother kissing it better because you want to meet my friends and… Angel, what's gonna happen then? I mean, when all the embarrassment is over and we're meant to go to our separate flats?" 

Mr Fell had thought about it, he had. "Can I stay at yours tonight, darling?"

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's cheek. "Of course, silly potato, you can always stay at my place. If you like."

"I'd like that very much, my sweet love. It's Sunday tomorrow, so… I'll wait for you. Make you supper. You're working the afternoon shift, aren't you? So, I guess I'll just hang out at yours until you come back."

"You could move in with me." Crowley said it with a shrug, as if it had been the easiest thing ever.

"And when you get tired of me?"

"I'll take you out to dinner to remind us both that we belong together." Crowley shrugged again. "From what I've seen, you have to work on your relationships, and fuck, I'll work as hard as a miner on ours, angel."

"Why?"

"Because you're beautiful. Haven't told you that today. You're beautiful."

Mr Fell was… He was all over the place. Crowley sauntered from Aziraphale's arms and to the bathroom. Aziraphale followed him without even realising it. The young man was shaving and glanced at Aziraphale through the mirror. "Angel, you look like you have another point to make. What is it this time?" Crowley winked.

"Nothing," Mr Fell shook his head and bit his lip. 

"Alright. Do you understand that a karaoke night implies I'm gonna be singing and you might never want to see me again afterwards?"

Mr Fell was a smart man, he was, but he couldn't possibly imagine a universe where he didn't want to see Crowley again. He said just as much, and they were late. 

However when Bea and Ana saw the happy couple approach their table in a lovely little place somewhere far from the places Mr Fell frequented, Bea, instead of bombarding Crowley with insults and suchlike, swallowed and said:

"Alright, you weren't lying, he  _ is  _ an angel. Ok, no singing today."

"But I want to hear Crowley sing." And Mr Fell pouted. People are often asked by other people whether they'd like to have a superpower and what it would be. Everyone who witnessed the effect Mr Fell's pout had on Crowley would have answered that question with  _ mighty pout please and maybe extraordinary sexual prowess. _

"Ok, we're singing." Crowley grabbed Bea and Ana who was just shaking Mr Fell's hand and pulled them towards the stage.

"That's some good whipping here," Ana looked back at Mr Fell and winked. 

Mr Fell was losing his confidence, which wasn't all that strong in the first place, at the sight of Bea who was a short but intimidating presence and Ana who was beautiful and smart and told Mr Fell that his aura was cerulean which indicated strong feelings of love and extreme arousal. He wondered what colour Crowley's aura was…

Ana suddenly stood by him, much to the displeasure of Bea and Crowley, and replied to Mr Fell's silent question:

"His aura has always been something purple or red, but about four months ago it changed into pale blue, like your eyes. Today it's a bit brighter. You're thinking of him really loudly. I'm going to sing with those two or they'll hit me."

Mr Fell sat down, a confused waiter brought him a glass of wine  _ because Ana said you'd like some.  _

Aziraphale felt and actually was quite a bit out of his element, but Crowley danced embarrassingly and sang beautifully about how he  _ knew what you think, this one means business so I'll offer him a drink; looking mighty proud I see you leave your table pushing through the crowd. _ Bea and Ana danced much better and sang just as beautifully as Crowley, and maybe, just maybe Mr Fell could allow himself this small thing, this startling fairy tale a young bus driver was weaving for him as if he had been the mightiest wizard of them all, and at that moment Aziraphale knew that Crowley in fact was.


	7. Chapter 7

Michael Godwin was Mr Fell's second in command and she used military language, had military manners and was somehow still a good librarian. She wasn't exactly bigoted, but she was well off, her wife was a daughter of a lord and she herself came from an influential family. 

So you could understand her confusion when one spring morning she saw Mr Fell, whom she quietly adored, because it was unbecoming to adore openly, sitting on a bench near the Library, eating what looked like a homemade lunch and chatting with what looked like a bus driver. The bus driver was young, undeniably handsome, skinny as a stick and definitely flirting with Mr Fell, who didn't seem bothered at all. The bus driver leaned over to Mr Fell, apparently going for a kiss, and Mr Fell playfully moved away. 

Now, Michael Godwin couldn't recognise playfulness on a playground, although she heard about it from her wife, who wasn't playful but who tended to admire other people's playfulness because, according to her, it was cute. Michael relied on her wife's judgement and would die for her in a battle. She quickly approached the bench and asked sternly:

"Is this young man bothering you, Mr Fell?"

Mr Fell was about to surrender and let Crowley kiss him, but alas, both had to look at Michael Godwin instead, not an unpleasant sight, mind you, but they'd rather be snogging.

"Ms Godwin," Mr Fell greeted. "No, this young man is not bothering me at all. Crowley, please meet Michael Godwin, my esteemed colleague. Ms Godwin, this is my partner, Anthony."

Crowley even lifted his sunglasses and nodded at Ms Godwin. He seemed relaxed, and Ms Godwin didn't like when people were relaxed, no, no, no, not on her watch. 

"Mr Fell, he's a bus driver." Michael ignored Crowley. 

"I'm well aware of that, my dear," Mr Fell replied, sudden winter chill in his voice. 

"Do you think it's… wise?"

"Sorry, are you questioning Aziraphale's judgement because he lives with a bus driver?" Crowley stared at Michael. "I'll have you know that Forster was in a relationship with a policeman."

Mr Fell looked at Crowley with open adoration and then at Michael with open animosity. "I suggest you write a letter to appropriate people telling them that my judgement is clouded because I live in my partner's small flat - no offense, darling, I love our home precisely as it is, - that said partner is a bus driver, that we both are gay and happily in love. I'd love to see their reply."

Michael Godwin knew that Mr Fell could be properly intimidating where the books were concerned, but he had always been the kindest, most generous man she had known, so she blushed. 

"I believe my judgement is clouded. Hello, Crowley, believe me, it  _ is  _ nice to meet you."

Crowley just nodded. 

"Now if you'll excuse us, I was about to submit to my partner's seduction technique."

Michael blushed some more. She wanted to hit herself with something old and dusty. Mr Fell was so happy and oh lord, Crowley was absolutely gone for him, now that she could see them close. 

"Sorry… ehm… proceed."

"We so needed your permission," Crowley smirked. 

The rumours flew fast, and soon the whole library learned that Mr Fell had a bus driver for a partner, and that they were very much in love and looked appropriately silly together. Mr Arch tried to refer to Crowley as Mr Fell's  _ bus boy _ , which proved to be the last straw and Mr Arch was so fired. There were of course some nasty people with nasty remarks, but there was also Crowley's small flat, filled to the brim with books and love. 

Aziraphale moved in with Crowley without even noticing it for the first couple of months. He just kept returning to Crowley's flat every day, and Crowley, the fiend, didn't comment on it, instead concentrating on extensive research. Mr Fell believed Da Vinci was involved, for some reason. 

Then one day Mr Fell came home to be greeted by Bea and Ana, who told him not to freak out, which of course led to Mr Fell totally freaking out. He rushed inside - and saw a complicated storage system, in the living room and the bedroom. As Crowley would explain worriedly, he had remodeled a few Ikea's closets and there it was, enough place for Mr Fell's books and clothes, and it really had to be much smoother, but Mr Fell came home a bit earlier, just as Bea and Ana helped clean up after Crowley's engineering adventure they had gladly partook in, and would please Mr Fell end Crowley's turmoil and move in with Crowley for fuck's sake!

Mr Fell was eager to end Crowley's turmoil. 

It was December, the darkest time of the year, so Crowley, despite his light sensitivity, would bring more and more candles each day… Mr Fell was being silly, of course, because his modern cool darling boy tolerated candle light much better than electricity. 

"The only electricity I can stand, angel, is when you glow looking at me." 

Yes, the flat was small, and the kitchen was tiny, but the bed was big and Crowley's arms were opened wide, and he did everything to make Aziraphale smile (and Aziraphale had never known he liked Leonard Cohen so much). Yes, there was just the shower and no bath, and the bathroom was small, and there was only one bathroom (oh, the horror), but Mr Fell was happy there. It felt good, it felt great, it felt fucking fantastic, to wake up in the bed that Crowley had left to go to work, but that still smelled of Crowley, and to find a lunch box with something delicious that Crowley had cooked the night before, along with Crowley's lunchbox and a note saying  _ Angel, love, please store it in your office. I love you. Thank you for sleeping well and nearly suffocating me with your embrace and for smelling of you and for being so warm and I'm losing it over you every day over and over and over and over. Over and over. All yours, Crowley and the bus. _

Bea would come over for tea because they were chronically out of tea, so Aziraphale made some for both of them and they chatted and joked, and Bea wasn't so bad when one got used to them. They were so fiercely protective of Crowley that if Mr Fell mentioned someone twice, Bea would almost imperceptibly shift into an Eldritch programmer they were and casually threaten Mr Fell… It took some rather mad tea parties for Mr Fell to get a hold of it.

Crowley would meet him for lunch and they would fall asleep together. 

It felt safe there, in Crowley's tiny flat, so Aziraphale sold his fancy posh flat without a second thought. He'd stay with Crowley anywhere, and Crowley was of course right, as he always tended to be, that Aziraphale would love his place. 

Mr Fell offered Crowley to buy their tiny sanctuary of love and nevermind-ness, but Crowley refused and asked Aziraphale to wait…

*** 

Everything had to be perfect, at the very least. If the world had been created according to Crowley, then pulling off what he intended to wouldn't have been that much of a problem, really. If the world had been created according to the whims of one (1) bus driver and his one and only (1=1, I guess?) posh librarian, it would have been just as easy and essential as gravity. 

Of course no thing had ever turned out perfect when someone wanted exactly that, and Crowley was relatively prepared for it. He had a meltdown at the office, as Ana shooed away everyone else and tried to persuade Crowley to be reasonable.  _ (Idiot, he moved in with you, he sold his silly fucking awesome flat to move into that oyster shell of yours, of course he will agree! Now please get up, you have a job to do!)  _

And of course Bea tried to calm Crowley down with their tough talk which was in the end just about the same as Ana's, but with much more expletives and rough rooting interspersed with some intel Bea had received from innocent but not so much Mr Fell. 

"He's gone for you. You just pop the question! What about the ring?"

"Oh humans!" Crowley wailed. 

Ana made sure Crowley had a paid day off and dragged Crowley through several shops. The trip consisted mostly of Crowley being qwerty (which is to say, he just wanted to speak by the means of dragging his face along the keyboard), Ana being reasonable and Bea demanding the most ridiculous engagement ring since the dawn of jewelry making. 

At the end of the trip Crowley was thrown out of a cab with a ring in his pocket and a half-baked plan in his head. 

Crowley busied himself with more meticulous planning, constantly reminding himself that if he began being too busy, Aziraphale would have  _ thoughts  _ of all levels of silliness, so trained himself to plan while gazing lovingly at Aziraphale. In the end Crowley decided to just go with it. 

There were quite a few passengers that daily boarded his bus and it proved to be an easy thing to secure their support and collaboration, but Crowley had no doubts about it. Perhaps he didn't have that mighty pout, but people, as he kept discovering throughout his life, tended to be supportive of sweet romantic gestures, even if they were horrible about everything else. 

"Say, angel, how about you get on my bus tomorrow evening? A mate is sick, so I'm replacing him. And I miss you being there." Crowley tried to avoid any hinting notes in his tone.

"Oh, darling, I'll ride you gladly, no need for innuendos." Aziraphale smiled beatifically. Oh, he didn't need any innuendos, Crowley wasn't even capable of innuendos, but Mr Fell would innuendo alright, and Crowley would always swallow the bait of  _ let's watch a movie  _ (let's make passionate love on the couch) or  _ read to me  _ (I'm going to suck you off so well, darling) and so forth. Yes, they fell off the couch, and yes, Crowley dropped the book on Aziraphale's head, but really, it was fun for everyone involved and Mr Fell had learned the incomparable pleasure or being silly together. 

Anyway. 

Aziraphale agreed to get on the bus and accepted that Crowley's request wasn't suggestive. He rode Crowley that night all the same, not that anyone complained. 

And so, Mr Fell got on the bus and sat down and smiled at his darling boy and considered himself so happy, it couldn't really have gotten any better. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. A passenger that he used to see when he rode Crowley's bus instead of Crowley himself, told him with a look of concern:

"My very good friend, the milkman, says that you've been losing to much sleep and that he doesn't like the hours you keep, and he suggests that you should marry Crowley."

Now, this is London we're talking about, a big bugger of a city where all sorts of peculiar people live in peace (theoretically at least) and besides, Aziraphale had nothing against the point made, however curiously it was expressed. He sighed and thanked the passenger. Mr Fell would of course love to marry Crowley, they had been together for a year and Aziraphale discovered new ways to be happy or reasons to fall in love with Crowley almost every day, but perhaps they had to wait and Crowley was so young and anyway…

At the next stop another recognisable passenger sat by Mr Fell and said:

"My very good friend, the mailman, says that it would make her burden less if you two had the same address, and he suggests that you should marry Crowley."

Well, that was still a bit understandable. 

"We live together as a matter of fact," Aziraphale replied.

"Oh, but imagine being sent the mail addressed to the same family," the passenger winked and got off the bus.

Aziraphale looked at his darling boy and let out a wistful sigh. 

At the next stop someone sitting in a row before Mr Fell's turned around and remarked:

"There's this very friendly fellow who prints all the latest real estate news, and everyday he sends Crowley the blue prints of cottages with country views."

Mr Fell gaped. 

"Actually, I've been thinking of getting us a cottage in the country. It would have been so… nice to go off with Crowley sometime…"

The passenger nodded and got off soon.

Aziraphale sighed again. What a strange day it was… and it was getting darker, so London became both ghostlier and merrier with all the lights and familiar sounds and chatter… Someone sat next to him again, and when Aziraphale looked at them it was Tracy. 

"Oh my dear, how good it is to see you!" Mr Fell said, but Tracy would have none of it. 

"My very good friends, the colleagues, say that they've been watching little things Crowley does and they perceive it's you he loves, and we suggest that you should marry him."

Mr Fell was entirely lost. Tracy got up to go and chat with Crowley. Soon the bus reached the final stop and everyone got off. Crowley sauntered down the isle and sat next to rather dumbfounded Aziraphale. They smiled at each other.

"I had the weirdest ride, my dear. Everyone told me I should marry you, and all for most preposterous reasons, really. Well, apart from Tracy, that is."

"Oh really. So, what is your answer then?" Crowley asked, smiling.

"Oh… I really… I don't know… oh wait! This is your demonic work!.."

Crowley laughed out loud and raised a hand with a ring in it. "Got me there, angel. So?"

"Oh, you impossible, stupid miracle! Yes, of course yes!"

"Oh thank fuck, I was so worried!" Crowley slouched in his seat. 

"I'll definitely fuck you so well you'll thank me," Mr Fell promised.

"Angel… just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing!" Crowley put the ring on Mr Fell. "Let's go home then. I took a day off tomorrow." He wiggled his eyebrows very suggestively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh what a ride this has been! Thank you all for your support. I'll happily write something in this universe if there's anything you would like to see these two do.  
> The song Crowley used is "My very good friend, the milkman, says". I love the way Paul McCartney sings it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute and sweet and fluffy epilogue. Wedding + Mr Fell being all about grand gestures. Features a bus, a dress and implied sex.

Mr Fell was lying in bed looking at the sleeping face of his husband-to-be. They had an argument over the wedding earlier. (Crowley wanted to get married ASAP, Mr Fell wanted to spend some time organising their wedding,  _ and no, darling, I will not change my mind. _ )

The real reason for the argument, when it finally was in the open, proved to have been the money. Crowley couldn't afford a wedding, while Mr Fell could and many times over. The argument ended with a mighty pout, a promise to go to the bank the following day and finally open a joint account, a permission for Mr Fell to organise a small wedding and some rather persuading lovemaking, so that each could drive the point home (the point being that  _ I love you and you're an idiot _ ).

Mr Fell had a plan in his head. He would of course listen to Crowley and make their wedding small and cozy, but he wanted to give Crowley something that could be presented as a gift for them both, but in truth was a testament of how much Crowley meant to Mr Fell and how proud he was of his soon-to-be husband. They settled on a spring wedding, so Mr Fell had quite a few months to prepare everything. 

He had considered asking Newt for help, but it would be a disaster. He had thought about Ana and Bea, but no, he had to do it himself. He wanted to make a grand gesture that didn't involve pleasuring Crowley to the point of being incapable of coherent human speech. 

***

Mr Fell told Crowley he would have to be sometimes busy with the planning, but that they could still cuddle while Aziraphale was occupied with research and correspondence. Crowley swore he wouldn't try to peek over Mr Fell's shoulder. 

First, Aziraphale found a small venue, a garden not far from London, and booked the date. The easiest part, really. 

Second, Mr Fell got his wedding suit out of the way. He intended to be dressed most casually and even leave the first button of his shirt open. 

Now, for the real fire… Mr Fell found and bought an old double-decker. That was easy too, but it was the most crucial part. He interviewed a few designers and settled on a peculiar couple who listened to him, agreed the idea was indeed adorable and were quite excited about the project. 

"We're all for weird things and peculiar gifts," Hastur grinned. He had black eyes and made Mr Fell a bit uncomfortable. His husband Ligur had alarmingly clever eyes and hardly spoke before they took their leave. 

Ligur turned around at the door and told Mr Fell apologetically:

"He is quite intense, but don't worry, he's great."

"I… have nothing against intense. Or unusual eyes. My husband has unusual eyes himself."

Ligur swooned. 

The bus had to be painted white and decorated with flowers on the day of the wedding, but between the painting and decorating, it had to be converted into a home with a shower big enough for two (Hastur grinned predatorily, Ligur cooed), a big bed, a decent kitchenette (with a big fridge, please), a cozy sitting area and probably some bookshelves, not to mention the bedroom that would make everyone jealous of Mr Fell (for all sorts of reasons). Mr Fell was to be consulted about every little detail, which Hastur found annoying and Ligur, adorable. 

"And what about honeymoon?" Crowley asked one evening when they were cuddling on the sofa.

_ Oh shit,  _ thought Mr Fell. 

"I'm taking care of it, darling, don't you worry. What do you think of South Downs?" 

"Hmmm, lovely," Crowley said, although he could have been referring to Mr Fell's fingers in Crowley's hair slowly lulling Crowley into slumber and making him abandon browsing on his phone about something called  _ Ikea hacks _ (Mr Fell hoped it was nothing illegal). Any attempts to read while Mr Fell was playing with Crowley's hair had been given up on as entirely impossible.

The bus/home was ready in February. It was so much to Mr Fell's liking that he couldn't wait to show it to Crowley, and Mr Fell learned to refuse himself absolutely nothing, and even if he tried, Crowley made sure Aziraphale got anything he could so much as have a little craving for. Mr Fell restrained his urges and concentrated on the flower arrangements and catering. He had forgotten about the guests, but Ana and Bea had been pestering them enough about the invitations, so Mr Fell had his timely reminder. Apart from them, Newt was invited, as well as Hastur and Ligur. Michael Godwin invited herself because her ladywife wanted to attend a small, modest wedding for once. 

"I'm considering wearing a dress," Crowley admitted one night as Aziraphale was worshipping… kissing his taut stomach.

"Of course, darling. Anything you like."

"Also I love you."

"I love you too."

"Could you kiss me less reverently?" 

"No."

"Knew it. Can't blame a boy for trying." 

"You don't seem to suffer… should I stop?"

"Oh fuck, no, angel, don't stop."

"Tell me about the dress."

"What's the point in that? But it won't be white."

"Would never expect something so trivial from you, love… My mouth is going to be otherwise occupied, so anything you want me to tell you?"

Crowley didn't want Aziraphale to say anything, considering the promise of  _ the otherwise occupied mouth _ .

***

The bus stood proudly in the middle of the garden, decorated with white and blue and green flowers in such a manner that one might think the flowers grew out of the bus itself and weren't wickedly attached to it. 

The officiant was waiting, and the guests were waiting, and Ana and Bea wanted to look inside the bus. 

Crowley and Mr Fell arrived a bit late. Crowley looked stunning, if slightly disheveled, and Mr Fell looked radiant. Crowley wore a navy blue blazer dress and a pair of red ankle boots. The collar of the dress was pulled up messily, and it looked both too exquisite and too casual to be judged definitely as an accident or a part of the whole outfit. 

"He's wearing stockings!" Ana approved.

"They shagged." Bea approved. 

Crowley wouldn't remember the ceremony, which was for the best, since he mostly used consonants in no particular order. Crowley wouldn't remember the reception, which was a pity, since the food was lovely. Crowley would remember things clearly only after he and his husband sent away the guests and Aziraphale took Crowley to the bus. Of course everyone had wanted to look at it or inside it and asked numerous questions, but  _ poor darling boy _ was so lost for words, that Aziraphale decidedly refused to even notice the bus until the reception was over.

"So, my love, should we retire to your gift?"

Crowley probably replied, but it wasn't clear, so Mr Fell tugged Mr Crowley-Fell to the white bus. 

"We… we can go to our honeymoon in this…" Crowley concluded after a few minutes of walking around and gaping. 

"How very bright of you, my love."

"Don't tease me, angel, this is fantastic. It's… it's an oyster. Our oyster. So cozy and… and travelling. I don't deserve you."

"You, Mr Crowley-Fell, deserve the world, and I love you so much. We don't have to go anywhere right now…"

"Oh no, you mentioned South Downs, so South Downs it is."

***

They watched the sunrise over the ocean from their bedroom on the upper deck, forming a very drunk octopus with their intertwined limbs. 

Oh, who are we kidding? They didn't watch the bloody sunrise, however glorious it was, they looked at each other. Crowley was smiling like someone much older than the world itself, and Aziraphale was looking at him with the same wonder one would be expected to save for seeing a sunrise for the first time. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> South Bussex, or the first day of the rest of their lives.

Mr Fell hummed happily as he prepared the tea and some properly celebratory breakfast - a cheeseboard worthy of kings with fruit scattered among, and some delectable bread being defreezed in the microwave. He caught himself sparing no sad thought for the fact that it couldn't be fresh out of the oven, perhaps because it had been frozen fresh and could be enjoyed almost just the same. Of course it was Crowley who had taught him the trick. Oh, dear, sweet Crowley!

Despite the fact that Mr Fell made sure the small wardrobe in the bedroom had fresh clothes for both Mr Fell's husband and Mr Fell himself, Aziraphale was being by his old standards gross - he was wearing the underwear and shirt he had been wearing the day before. However gross it was, Mr Fell wanted to wear the clothes of his happiest day just a little bit longer. He had opened the wardrobe so that Crowley (oh dear, sweet Crowley) could see he had a choice. 

Sleepy steps descended down the stairs and Mr Fell was embraced from behind. "Morning, angel. Thank you for the soft clothes."

"Only the softest for you, darling," Mr Fell replied, his voice trembling. He was so happy, so safe, so loved and above it all, so much in love. 

"I considered walking up to you naked, but I wasn't sure you'd find it appropriate."

"We're both quite sore, my love, and I can't keep my hands off you."

"Not keeping mine off you just the same." Crowley tightened the embrace, placing careful pecks on the back of Mr Fell's neck. 

"Darling…" Mr Fell dropped his head on Crowley's shoulder. 

"Here, angel." More kisses down Aziraphale's cheek, a nip on the soft skin behind his ear, a gentle bite on his jaw. 

"I… I want you so much. I love you so much."

"Entirely mutual. Can I undress you?"

Aziraphale moaned instead of replying, but Crowley (oh dear, sweet Crowley) understood him as he always did. There wasn't any need to abandon the safety of Crowley's body pressed to Aziraphale's back. The shirt was pushed down Aziraphale's shoulders and arms and… whatever happened to it next. The underwear followed. 

Crowley slid his hands up Aziraphale's sides, nudging his husband to lift his arms and lower them behind Crowley's head. 

"Love your armpits." Crowley leaned down under Aziraphale's arms and licked from Aziraphale's nipple up his armpit, then mirrored the caress on the other side, and returned to his previous position, with Aziraphale's hands closing on Crowley's nape. "Adore you, all of you, just keep falling in love with something else each day." Soft, then firm, but unwaveringly tender touches and caresses, Aziraphale's belly and thighs, chest and shoulders, lips on Aziraphale's neck… The narrative is getting too serious, and I can't stand it, because lovemaking is the world's leading producer of silly faces, terrible jokes, awkward situations and so forth. So I'm inserting here a story about how I was taught that there could be no verbless sentences in English, but bugger all, dear boy, which reminds me. 

"Darling…"

Crowley made an agreeing noise and took Aziraphale's hand to guide him… somewhere. Aziraphale would have followed anyway. Crowley was wearing a white t-shirt, that was definitely meant for Aziraphale, as well as the pyjama pants that naughtily revealed Crowley's hipbones. The sight made Aziraphale's heart the wet dream of any lepidopterist, but perhaps the lepidopterist was a bit old and very sentimental because there was definitely a wistful touch to all of it. 

"Hey, angel," Crowley touched Aziraphale's cheek. Mr Fell looked at his husband, sitting between Mr Fell's thighs, his cheek on one of them. 

"Yes, dearest."

"Do you want me now?"

"Always."

"Thank you," Crowley gratefully kissed the place he had been resting on and dove for Aziraphale's cock. For once (again) Aziraphale couldn't scold Crowley for failing to savour things - Crowley savoured alright, he was just very passionate about it. He sucked and swallowed and licked and kissed, humming and moaning, his hands held in Aziraphale's steadily, and Crowley vehemently refused to do something for himself, loyal to a fault, loyal to Aziraphale's pleasure.

Aziraphale leaned back, both unable to keep his head up and wanting to force his tears back into his eyes, although those were happy tears (plus hormones, confusing buggers). And the best, the bestest, the bestestest thing ever was that Crowley  _ knew _ , Crowley wasn't nervous about those tears, he would kiss them away afterwards. 

The sea was above and the sky was beneath, no physics whatsoever, so one couldn't blame Mr Fell for hoping to un-cry. 

"So good for me… so right for me."

Crowley was voracious. He wasn't in a hurry, wasn't trying to end it as soon as possible, but he couldn't help himself indulging in the act like he would in anything that might bring Aziraphale pleasure, to make Aziraphale's face light up with joy. 

"My treasure, my darling…" 

Crowley hadn't doubted them for once, Crowley was far more easily pleased, because say, any moment of time spent doing something he liked felt good. And every moment spent with Aziraphale or thinking about him was right. And when he worked, he was useful and important, and when he came home, he felt he had been slaying dragon-doubts, dragon-worries of the world and therefore came to Aziraphale victorious and calm. 

"Sweetheart… Anthony…"

"I know. Go on." Crowley grinned, his face wet and red and ridiculously happy.

"Together," Aziraphale clarified. 

"Yes," Crowley nodded and stood up. Aziraphale helped him out of his clothes. 

"Can't look at you enough," Aziraphale whispered as Crowley straddled him taking both their cocks in his hand, Aziraphale's hand coming to cover his.

"Looking doesn't really do it for me," Crowley giggled, but his face, his eyes were making a very compelling case for tenderness and love having a temperature. Apparently, it was 36.6 Celsius, and also tenderness and love manifested themselves in a lanky ginger young man.

"You're melting me."

"Then we can be molten together and become a new metal. Or rock. Marriage of a volcano and an avalanche." Crowley ruffled Aziraphale's white hair with his free hand.

Aziraphale whimpered and let go.

"Oh yes, my beautiful angel, yes, love, like that…" Crowley joined him but a moment later. "Always late for you, huh?"

"Just in time, darling. Just in time…"

Crowley fell off Aziraphale's lap, and Aziraphale rearranged himself to spoon him. 

After a short nap, Aziraphale got up to clean them both, despite Crowley's sleepy protests that he wanted to be gross and dirty and why Aziraphale couldn't just let him be so. They ate, or rather Aziraphale ate and Crowley watched him adoringly, agreeing to take a fruit or a cheese bite from his husband every now and then. 

"Perhaps we could drive to some forest camping? Or we could stay here. Or we could go anywhere. Bet we have enough food for a week."

"You're insulting me, darling, we have enough food for a fortnight, and you barely eat at all, which is a pity… I stuffed the fridge with the best delicacies we  _ both  _ like."

"Don't put yourself into the fridge, angel. What can I tempt you with now?"

Aziraphale's eyes glinted mischievously. Crowley knew the look - it meant Aziraphale wanted to read, with Crowley snuggled up next to him. 

So they snuggled, with books, tea, wine and snacks, discovered many a nook in their tiny new home where snuggling was just the best - which is, until they discovered the next nook. 

It was getting darker when they walked down to the sea, Aziraphale safe and cozy under Crowley's arm. 

"For the rest of our lives?" Aziraphale asked suddenly.

"Oh, sure, angel," Crowley replied easily and grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next - they get a flat.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at last. Sorry for such a long wait, and all for such a short epilogue. You're all lovely. Thank you.

"Angel, I've been thinking…" Crowley began one cozy summer evening.

"And that's such a pity, my darling, seeing as I haven't caught my breath yet, and you're already thinking." Aziraphale smiled into the hollow of Crowley's throat. Between Crowley's chin and his shoulders there was precisely enough place for Aziraphale to take his rest. There was sweetness to their bickering now, since it took too much effort to properly bicker, so sometimes they would pretend to be annoyed just to, well, annoy the other. 

"I'm serious, though."

"I'm seriously worried about you then… Darling, what is it?"

"Well, this place, our place, is going on sale. I thought… how about we get a mortgage together?" Crowley absent-mindedly caressed Aziraphale's shoulder drawing long Möbius lines there. "We'll get this place. Our place. We'll have it, own it. We'll have been together for ten years next year. What a way to celebrate our love!"

"Crowley, I'd hardly call a mortgage  _ celebration _ ." Aziraphale kissed Crowley's chin. 

"You don't see it, my silly angel… If I'm in debt with you, then I'm still happy, because it's another place where we're together."

"You're the silly one, my love, but impeccably romantic. I think we have enough money to just buy this place, no mortgage necessary." Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows. Crowley looked up at him like Prince Bolkonsky at the sky over Austerlitz, which is with awe in complete confusion about the fact that he could have ever thought of something that wasn't Mr Aziraphale Fell.

"You bought us a bus home…"

"That was a gift. This place is a necessity. This is my home." Aziraphale promised with full serenity of the sky over Austerlitz. "My dear silly boy, we have a shared account and we have enough there. Do you really want to celebrate our decade of love with a mortgage?" 

In the end they celebrated a decade of their love by buying themselves the place they had been living in since they got together. It was a small place, it was the best place. If it had been their will, it would have flown away as a galaxy…

Or it would have turned into a chrysalis with them snuggled inside as two most smitten and ridiculous and wonderful butterflies. 

Or it would have become alive, like a tree, and nourish two clingy besotted vines who clung to each other rather than the tree.

As things stood, they were two silly besotted humans with limited time and the knowledge of infinitely small numbers. Their days lasted far longer than 24 hours, their months laster longer than some years, their years passed in the blink of an eye. Happiness and joy can still be endless, there's always another dimension hiding behind those things that are rarely moved. There are universes in tea parties and unicorns galloping across the ceiling at night. Praised be all things silly and impossible, for they are neither silly not impossible, they just hide from everyone else since they only ever belonged to Crowley and Mr Fell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being here. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
